The Battlefield
by raykong
Summary: OJR Battle Story: On ZAC 2042, the Empire went to war with the Republic when they launched Operation D Day. Six days later, the aftermath of the Zenebas attack is still felt, not from a Zoid's cockpit, but from the eyes of a soldier on the battlefield.
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

This is a continuation of my **D-Day** fanfiction and the aftermath and subsequent events after the D-Day Zenebas invasion of ZAC 2042. While some of it is fictional, most of it is based off the actual Battle Story of the Zoids franchise and fanbooks. Enjoy and please review, it keeps me going. =D

**ZAC 2042, March 23****rd**

**D-Day D+5, 0815 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G2**

Technician Officer (3rd Class) Matthias Perry was rather irritated to find his morning's rest broken by his friend Tech. Officer (1st Class) Felt Treus' vibrating hands on his shoulders. As Matt's vision slowly pieced together, the looming shape of his fellow officer yanked him up with a jerk while he fought, though since still delirious, fought back rather futilely. It was when his sight finally cleared up and the objects around his quarters stopped looking like f*****' lava lamps that Matt turned to Felt with a hissing and very annoyed, "What?!"

Felt seemed to ignore Matt's fuming but continued on rather ignorantly, though his voice was considerably strained, "It's the CO, man. I was just jogging around trying to find some sulfur powder for this bloody finger," he paused to exhibit his messily amputated finger, "when the Sarge hurriedly hollered at me to call you!"

Matt's mind suddenly snapped back to focus. His CO was calling him? Tech. Sergeant Eltham Bryce was calling him? _Sure as f*** there's something going on, _he told himself silently as he leaned out of bed, _What could it be? A promotion, a re-deployment, or a change of squadron?_ Matt could feel the excitement pounding in his heart as he tore off his rest garments and asked,

"Where did he say I have to meet him?" Matt queried, "Did he say anything about it?"

"Nothing at all," Felt replied, equally confused, "He just told me to call you and both of us are to meet him outside the mess hall."

Again for a second time, a lightbulb snapped inside Matt's head. "Mess hall? Has the breakfast been served yet? Don't tell me I missed it for a second time!!" he yelled as he stripped off his pants and slipped the army-issue khakis over his patched boxers. Felt's smirk cemented the revelation.

"Oh, shut up," Matt snarled as he pulled the technician-issued sky blue smock over his torso and grabbed a brown jacket before walking over to his crowded and dilapidated table, selecting a few special tools and sliding them into his tool case, "Why aren't you bringing your tools anyways?"

"He never said we had to bring our tools so I'm not bothering," Felt replied, smiling that angelic smile of his that would make anyone just wish to place a halo over his head, "Who says we have to do any work anyways? It's the 19th ED's (_Engineering Division_) shift today morning anyways and ours isn't till eight."

"Better safe than sorry when you're around with the Sarge," Matt reasoned as he fastened the two clasps of the case and slung the nylon strap over his shoulder before grabbing the final accessory of his technician attire, the iconic patrol-style cap.

"Hhn," Felt sneered with a slight mocking in his voice, "With this smile, I can get mountains to move."

"Yeah sure," Matt replied with an equally discriminating tone as he opened the door out of his quarters, "Then why don't you get those f*****' Zenebas bastards out of our damn nation before they advance any further and eat up our f****** capital?"

***

Sergeant Bryce was not a particularly happy man this particular morning. Part of the reason why were the soaking puddles and dew that had gathered on his track boots and the soft drizzling was driving his ears mad. And the other half was that he had been waiting for over ten minutes for two technician officers who were supposed to meet him at the mess hall. He adjusted his boonie hat as he watched streams of men from over seven divisions stream into the massive mess hall, originally a cathedral for one of the local towns until it was bombed-out by the Zenebas aerial bombing campaign.

Bryce sighed as he thought back to the surprise invasion of the Zenebas forces. The Zenebas forces were defeated back in ZAC 2040, pushed back into the Dark Continent of Nyx but military forces were still posted on duty and an operation during ZAC 2041 was about to be launched to finish off the Zenebas forces in Nyx. Had they known (if the rumors were true) that the Zenebas had allied with Guylos forces they would have stopped the f****** delay s*** and launched the damn operation over a year ago. But now they were too late, and over hundreds of men from both the Dallas Triangle and Round's Mountain bases were killed in the Zenebas amphibious assault.

He had been stationed in Round's Mountain during the attack and had evacuated along with several others through a subterranean passage while the 17th and 19th Zoid Divisions had fended the invading Zenebas forces off, giving Bryce and the other men time to escape. With no warning, an explosive bomb, later identified as a material-absorbing mineral called 'deochalcum,' exploded from within the mountain base and men of both forces were lost. Bryce and the others had no choice but to flee from the area before the Zenebas forces swooped in from the jungle and secured POWs.

Since then they had set up a new base camp, identified as 'G2' in the abandoned ruins of an old town. Three other camps, call-signed 'G1,' 'G3,' and 'G4' had been set up in different areas around the Bareshia Bay in the hopes of holding out for awhile while support was called from the Helic capital of Helic City. According to reports at least, reinforcements were expected to arrive within less than a week or so, with the closest available military base being at Aarhem, over two-hundred kilometers away from Bareshia Bay.

The sergeant shook the thoughts out of his head as his two men stumbled through the rain towards him, one of them holding a tool case. Tech. Officers Matt and Felt waded through the line of soldiers lining up outside the mess hall (potentially beginning some squabbles along the way) before making it through and pausing right in front of the sergeant, clearly breathless while Bryce gave them a cynical look. It was Matt who first spoke,

"Yes, sir, you called for us?" he asked, his throat still panting like an asphyxiating dog.

"Indeed I did," Bryce said as he secretly smiled in his mind. 'Indeed I did' was a phrase that he liked to think he coined and used at every moment possible, "Indeed I did call you. You two are familiar with basic-degree Zoid mechanics, are you not?"

Matt's eyebrows turned to a frown. Sure, they both had some skills with Zoid technology, both of them having served in the Delpoli campaign of ZAC 2030 when Zoids were at their peak and they appeared to be the 'rage' amongst both factions. It was natural, they were significantly easier to produce, being developed from raw biological matter provided by Mother Nature. Matt for one though, held a certain aversion to the biomechanical creatures, viewing them as somewhat like 'freaks' and 'impostures of sentient beings.'

"Yes, sir," Matt answered, "Though we haven't serviced a Zoid in years." It was true though, after the D-Day invasion in which both bases were conquered in less than a day and the enemy penetrated over fifty kilometers behind enemy lines, Helic Zoids were becoming scarcer as the time went by.

"Same here," Felt agreed, "The last Zoid I serviced, or rather the Zoid pilot, was a f****** jarhead who was stuck in the cockpit of a Guysak."

Matt chuckled at this but Bryce appeared extremely unamused. Gritting his teeth ever so slightly, he turned to them and said, "Whatever, but as long as you can do it I need the both of you to head down south using the recon Sandspeeda Zoid."

"Do we need to test-drive the Sandspeeda or what?" Felt asked, a faint hope lingering in him while flashing that 'angelic' smile.

With the smile working its charm and much to Matt's annoyance, Bryce grinned back and said, "Nice try, hotshot, but there's a makeshift field camp down there for the 17th Aviation Zoid Regiment. They've been deployed there to intercept anymore enemy bombings in the air but the problem is that the Zenebas have deployed an EMP tower close to their position. We need you two to head down there and disable it."

"Well, why us, sir?" Matt questioned, a little confused, "Any other ED can do it. Why don't you ask the 19th, sir?"

"That's because the EMP is an IEMP, or improvised EMP. It was made in a hurry but sure does the job of disrupting our Pteras' Magnesser Wing flight technology. See, this IEMP was made out of the chassis of a Red Horn."

Matt's eyebrow rose a small inch as Felt muttered, "Charming."

"I was afraid some of our techies might not be familiar with this Zoid s*** and recalling a comrade of mine who commended you, Perry, on your activation of a damaged Garius in the Delpoli campaign, thought of you two." The sergeant paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts before resuming, "Just out of curiosity, how did you do it?"

"Hot-wiring, sir," Matthius replied, grinning from ear to ear, "Technically illegal by military-code regulations but it was a desperate measure in a desperate situation. Wasn't awarded any damn medal for it though, sir, other than Lieutenant Hasseus' commendation on my CV."

The sergeant nodded in agreement, "That's good enough." Reaching into his half-soaked sling bag he drew out two identification passes with the word 'ENGINEER' written on it in bright blue. "These are Class 3 ID passes, you'll need them to get pass the _gendarmeries _set across in roadblocks leading to the makeshift camp."

The two engineers each took one pass and clipped it onto their lapel as the sergeant drew out a much-abused field map and a paracompass before handing them to Matthius. "Once you meet up with the 17th AD (_Aviation Division_), you will be escorted by a few of their men on ground as you make your way with these items to the IEMP while having air support in the form of our only Double Sworder, whose technology is not affected by the pulses of the device."

"It's expected for a few of the Zenebas _ostruppen _to be guarding the sector around the IEMP. I want you to two to disable the device, not blow it up since I don't want to attract any unwanted attention. Recon informs us that there are no less than five _ostruppen _squads located in the sector." Bryce took a breather as he led the two men towards the stable-turned-makeshift Zoids hangar towards one of the three heavily damged Sandspeedas.

"I want you two to leave right away. Good, Perry, I see your kit." Bryce noted (while Matt smiled) as he tapped the console of the Sandspeeda tightly. "I'm sure you two will be able to figure out the control of this Zoid, two of you will be riding on one. Are you two armed?"

"No sir." Felt answered for the both of them. They had both not fired a single firearm since basic training.

"Ok then, head off to the grocery shop, or rather, armory department and ask the man there for two M36 beam pistols and two extra clips. You have my permission." Sergeant Bryce responded. The two engineers nodded as Bryce wished them good luck and strode off, leaving the two men to head off to the armory department to purchase some very potent 'groceries.'

As they trudged through the muddy grass, Matt turned to Felt with a mocking, "_Never said we had to bring tools, he said_!"

***

The 24-F2, nicknamed by Helic soldiers as the 'Sandspeeda' seemed almost reluctant to get its biomechanical engine running as it spluttered. The Zoid was in bad shape, clearly having seen its share of service as dripping muck of oil seeped through the chinks in its armor and its engine coughed as though its 'throat' was being constricted. The heavy machine-gun mounted in front was nearly unclasping from the front bumper and Matt found three spare rounds within the storage packages located on the sides of the Zoid. This particular Sandspeeda was a modified version, as including the standard pilot/gunner seat also had a built-in one on its rear and over the engine for a secondary passenger to seat in.

"Did you know that unlike most Zoids who have at least 45% of base-biological matter the Sandspeeda only has less than 9% of bio-material in its genetic makeup, it being mainly a construction of human researchers?" Felt piped as he slung his technician tool bag over his shoulder.

"Did you know I don't give a s***?" Matt shot back, a little irritated at the moment as he struggled to get the damn Zoid to work. The air in the stable was stuffy and the dirt and grime off his face was mixing with his perspiration to form a rather disturbing aroma that wafted off him.

'Sorry, Officer Grumpy," Felt teased light-heartedly as he reached for the pilot/gunner helmet that lay on the pilot seat. It was a field grey helmet with an in-built visor, reinforced chin strap and an electronic microphone built onto the side. He slipped the helmet on, found the cushions inside a rather comfortable fit and declared, "Ok, I'll be riding this baby!"

"If you can get this abominable offspring of yours to move!" Matt yelled back before finally bashing down on the contraption. Suddenly, as though wishing to prove itself, the engine roared to life and the cooler fan began to rotate and the front glider wheels begin to spin.

"I've got the magic touch…" Felt hummed as he got onto the pilot seat and strapped himself in before grabbing the console steering wheel which doubled as a pivot for the high-powered machine-gun. The special program built into his helmet was connected to the electronic iron sights of the machine-gun, aiding him if the need should arise for him to fire at the enemy. Felt turned back to Matt who was just furiously strapping himself into the rear seat and drawing out his M36 pistol. "You ready?" he asked.

"You got it."

The Sandspeeda roared to live as the machine began to hover a few inches off the ground and float over the grass, sending the morning water droplets spraying everywhere and the grass to tremor as the machine silently ascended and Felt carefully maneuvered it out of the stable whilst Matthius unfolded the map after taking it out of his huge thigh pockets and double-checking with the paracompass to check which direction they were going. The needle of the device spun carefully as Matt told Felt to keep the Zoid stationary for awhile. Matt had to keep mentally reminding himself to think of the compass in the opposite direction as he was sitting with his back facing the front.

"Right, I think I've got it."

The next hour was held a nice sensation for Matt, and certainly was one of the few moments of the war he'd remember to his deathbed. The cool and calm breeze of the wind whipped in their faces so rapidly that even Felt took off his helmet to let the air whoosh through his auburn follicles. The Sandspeeda had a few sputters here and there as its exhaust pipe belched out redolent fumes of miasma into the air, something Matt felt oddly guilty for. The ever-droning hum of the Sandspeeda's hovering did not stop the technician officer from gazing at awe at the flocks of birds soaring in a V-formation above them, similar to the way Pteras units would do so.

On the battered tar road littered with craters from explosives, mortars, and Zoid tracks they would often encounter marshy areas where huge puddles of water had gathered from these craters and the water would fountain up towards them when the Sandspeeda hovered over it, a fetish which Felt annoyingly took up during their journey there. The thick conifer trees stood massive and grand while their branches shivered and swayed with the wind of the early morning and the clear blue skies and their snow white clouds loomed over the two engineers who were still advancing along the road and towards the makeshift outpost.

Halfway across there and from the distance with his helmet off, Felt spotted three _gendarmeries_, or 'military police' occupying the distance ahead with one sigh-bearer standing upon what appeared to be the broken head of an abandoned and dead Command Wolf with the other two standing outside a guardhouse, both of them carrying stun rifles armed with live rounds. Before Felt could inform Matthias, the two men with rifles stood up and pointed them towards the advancing Sandspeeda with a loud, "HALT!"

Felt complied, pressing the break on the Zoid as its engine slowly died and the front wheels scratched onto the pavement while Felt carefully set the Zoid down and Matt turned around and hopped out of his seat to greet the two _gendarmeries._

To his surprise, the two police still kept their rifles pointing towards him and as he raised his hands up in the air, one of them said, "Beyond!"

Matt recognized the security call sign codeword for the Helic forces deployed in Bareshia Bay and responded with the correct return word, "Duty!"

Matt let out a sigh of relief as the _gendarmeries_ placed their rifle barrels towards the ground and slung them over their shoulders. One of the _gendarmeries_, a short, stout man with a bushy beard extended his hand with a greeting as Matt took it, "Guard Sergeant Aryes Talent, 74th Military Police Company." He adjusted the ochre armored gorget on his neck, a symbol of his status as a police in the army. "You two are sappers, I take it?"

Felt propped off his vehicle as the sign-bearer _gendarmerie_ that stood on top of the Command Wolf's head resumed on, using a periscope mounted on a stand. He walked over as Matt introduced the two of them, "Not exactly," he began, tapping his service cap, "We're technician officers. I'm Tech. Officer Matthew Perry and this is my partner, Officer Felt Treus, both of us members of the 24th Engineering Division. We've been sent here by our CO from G2 to meet up with the 17th AD near the makeshift camp."

"I'm afraid if you wish to cross us, you'll need Class 3 passes." The police patiently explained though Felt could make out his fingers silently reaching for what appeared to be the sheath of a bayonet.

"Here," Matt said as he spotted the finger motion too, showing the two passes pinned to their shirts. The other _gendarmerie_, who introduced himself as Sergeant Rupert Show, drew out a radioactive authenticator from his ammo vest and ran its scanner over their passes before the flickering light on the device turned green, verifying the passes' authenticity. Sergeant Show declared them clear as Guard Sergeant Talent patted Felt lightly on the back and said, "You're good to go."

"Oh, and just in case you're not sure where the outpost is," the Guard Sergeant added, "Keep heading off in this direction and then drive across the _Ruädich_ canal which will be towards your east, or right."

Matt and Felt thanked them as they got onto their Sandspeeda while the sergeants cleared the crow's feet roadblocks painted in yellow and black and Felt drove the sputtering Zoid onwards towards the makeshift outpost.

***

The 17th Aviation Division's outpost was designed to be able to deploy aerial Zoids and anti-air weaponry in the blink of an eye. With only a day after Helic forces were driven back from both the Dallas Triangle base and the subsequent explosion of the Round Mountain's base, the general of the Bareshia Bay sector, General Frank R. Kades sent out a commission for over four engineering divisions to work in tandem with the 17th AD for the construction of a fast-attack aerial assault outpost. In three weeks engineering and sapper teams worked their asses off to construct 'foxholes' for Zoids to be kept in and deployed when the time called for it. Modified Mammoths constructed by EDs had their beam guns on their trunks removed in favor of a mounted excavation device design to construct a ditch of sorts interconnected by trenches created from the many canals that littered the area.

Other than storing Zoids in the outpost, most of them consisting of customized Pteras and a single Double Sworder, there were also members of mechanized divisions stationed there to operate the many Anti-Zoid (_AZ_) long-distance cannons and soldiers stationed in more foxhole craters surrounding the perimeter of the position to ambush any enemy infantry happening to cross by the area or to inform forces back at the outpost of an enemy Zoids assault. Right now as the IEMP disabled all the electromagnetic devices surrounding the area the Pteras units were rendered virtually useless and only being able to patrol on ground. The AZ cannons were not working either though, with the electromagnetic disruptions preventing their beams from firing at the far distances they were designed to fire at accurately.

"The magnetic disruption has reached up to levels of a whopping 6.5 tesla in the past few hours," Lieutenant Farthing Weber muttered bitterly as he inhaled while the cigarette was in his mouth before releasing a neat streak of nicotine-stained smoke into the air.

"F****** great news isn't it," Second Lieutenant Yanks Joe agreed in resentment, "My cannon-boys can't even fire their damn weapons…even the infantry can't shoot beam rifles and have to rely on those pathetic human-style conventional firearms!"

"Yeah, I-" Lt. Weber paused as he spotted a Sandspeeda unit in the distance hovering towards them and he dropped his cigarette before crushing it with his foot. "Must be them," Weber said to Joe, "The cap said he was sending two techies only."

The lieutenant and his subordinate walked up towards Matt and Felt who were just propping off the Sandspeeda before Weber walked up and signaled two other men to head over and park the 24-F2 in one of the makeshift hangars. Matt gazed around as the two men walked over. There seemed to be buzzing activity everywhere in the form of scattered ditches and interconnected trenches where men walked under the wooden planks above passing supplies, adjusting frequencies of their radios, mechanics servicing Zoids and men fixing barbed wire. _Seems like they've taken quite a beating_, Matt noted as he saw massive blackened and charred plunges into the earth and cries of men from a small building beside a dirty Mammoth which appeared to be a medical ward.

"Hello there," Weber said, taking the initiative while the two tech officers seemed busy looking around, "I'm Lt. Weber, the man in charge here and this is my subordinate Lt. Joe."

"Tech Officers Felt Treus and Matthias Perry of the 24th ED reporting, sir!" Felt responded with the furious grace of a typical soldier.

"At ease, officer," Weber commanded before getting directly to business, "You two were sent here to help with the EMP?"

"Yes, sir," Matt confirmed before pointing towards the service mechanics, "Just out of curiosity, sir, why haven't you instead chosen to use one of your mechanics, they must have some knowledge of Zoid technology."

"Yes, but none of EMP-disabling," Weber explained, "Whereas you two are familiar with both EMPs and Zoid technology, I believe?" he inquired.

"EMPs yes, Zoid technology to a limited extent," Felt added.

"That's good enough for me." Weber continued, "Two of my men are already preparing that Double Sworder for takeoff. I'll be placing Joe here in charge while me and four other of my men escort you towards the IEMP, located a short distance away from here." He pointed to their kits as he spoke, "I see you have your equipment. Are you armed?"

Felt tapped the holster that slung vertically over his shoulder, the straps connected to his belt. "Laser pistols, sir."

"They won't work with the IEMP around." Weber said, appearing quite flustered. "It appears your CO wasn't aware of that. No matter, I'll ask my men to bring up two rifles for you guys." He then turned to Lt. Joe, "Yanks, bring these two over to the perimeter where Eddie and the rest are. I'll be there in a minute. Oh, and tell West and Yuena to get the Sworder deployed. Pronto."

***

Matt felt like a VIP as the four men surrounded both him and Felt, each of them treading careful steps in the woods, their boots softly crunching over the many fallen leaves. Each soldier had their rifles stealthily pointing in a different direction with the clip slammed in and safety cache off. Matt and Felt on the other hand, were tripping over roots and gripping their tool kits tightly while their own rifles dangled uselessly from their shoulders. Weber didn't seem irritated by this though, probably because he was too busy whispering into the headphones connected to a field radio that was strapped on his abdomen, keeping in constant touch with the Double Sworder which soared above them, both sides relaying information.

"We are approaching the target," Weber hissed into the microphone like a serpent as he gripped the handle of his rifle tighter and pressed the stock against his chest, "Visual confirmation by binoculars. Weber, over."

"This is Flybird 1, we are soaring approximately thirty feet above the ground, that is if the tachometer is working." A voice muttered through the headphones as it crackled in Weber's ears, "We have visual confirmation of the target, it's laying horizontal, made from the torso of a Red Horn unit with what looks like the pulse's main motherboard frame located on the top, apparently utilizing raw energy provided from the Horn's Zoid Core. Flybird 1, over."

"Weber here, how many enemy positions are there? Weber, over."

"Flybird 1 here. Hold on, zooming visual optics to enemy position…." There was a brief pause before the co-pilot resumed, "Identified seven positions of unknown enemy numbers, field purple attire identifies them as _ostruppen _units. Most of them are located behind scattered materials around the outpost but there's what appears to be a three-man crew manning a mortar farther north of your position. Flybird 1 over."

"Roger that. I want you two to target the mortar position, effectively disabling it while randomly firing at zones where you can spot enemy positions while we flank them from the right. We clear? Go time is approximately three minutes from now. Weber out."

"Copy that, Weber. We're clear. Flybird over."

"Ok, let's get this done and over with. Weber, over and out."

The lieutenant turned back to his men and informed them, "The Sworder will approach there in about three minutes. There are about seven groups, including a mortar team which the Sworder will first dispatch before swooping around to scatter the other groups, signaling for out flank to the right to enfilade them. To be able to flank 'em, we'll need to cross the canal leading over the bushes there."

The other men nodded in silent agreement whilst Matt and Felt continued attempting to move cautiously. Weber turned back to face the front and led his squadron and two tech officers further down the woods to the canal which, if the map was correct, would lead them to the canal which ends at the _Le Braquette _locks, its halfway distance being in the exact spot where the enemy was.

***

When they arrived near the canal, Weber ordered each man to take off their belts, pockets, vests, and exterior jackets, any form of material that would weigh them down. Much to Matt's and Felt's annoyance, it turned out they wouldn't need their rifles anymore and left them near the edge of the canal instead being given combat knives to arm themselves while the other soldiers drew out pistols and screwing on their silencers. Weber had to carefully teach the two technicians how to hold the blade of the knife between their teeth without filleting their tongues. The men had to remove their helmets (and service caps) too but kept their dog tags in their pockets.

"Ok," Weber began to brief as he checked his watch. Two more minutes, "The canal is shallow enough for us to tiptoe on but you'll have to keep your weapons and for you two, your tool cases, up in the air as we cross the water. It'll probably reach up to your chest. I'll tie a static cord around all of us by our pants so we don't get lost in the fog up ahead. I want Teldam to remain here and take care of our equipment while Eddie and Thomas take up the rear and me and Saddis take up the point, with these two techies in the center. We'll cross the canal and once we arrive there I want you all to remove your boots and remove any excess water before waiting patiently for the signal and then moving out when I give the go code, clear?"

The men, including Matt and Felt, responded with a unanimous 'clear' as the man named Teldam slid all their packages carefully behind a bush before taking his own rifle and taking a kneeling stance, ready to open fire at any approaching enemy. Weber began clipping the line on the belt loops around their pants before being the first one to descend into the canal. Holding his pistol high in the air with one hand and gripping the white plaster of the canal's sides with his other, he slowly drifted into the chilling water, his cord whipping as he went in and extended his toes. Giving the signal, Saddis followed before Matt and Felt entered the water too.

The water was blindingly shivering in the morning, with the fog ahead merely impairing their vision even more. Matt shivered as the water partially seeped through his tan undershirt and he gingerly placed the knife between his teeth while balancing the rather heavy tool case over his head. Felt trailed closely behind, struggling with the tool case too and before long, all of them were treading in the water, making soft ripples behind them. The tools within the cases made odd creaking noises as the journeyed through the canal, carefully avoiding the slime emerald moss which crept up from the sides of the moist canal and the occasional invertebrate skittering up the canal or the dead carcass of an animal drifting in the waters.

When they arrived at the designated area, Matt could already make out the sounds of massive explosions and men screaming, running around in panic as explosions filled the area. _Seems the cavalry is here_, Matt said in his mind as Lt. Weber hoisted himself out of the canal and the others likewise did the same. Each of them individually snapped their length of the cord and disconnected it from their pants before, just as the lieutenant had commanded, poured out the gathering waters from their boots and sliding them back on, with the soldiers double-checking their pistols' interiors while Matt and Felt gratefully took their knives out of their mouths. Weber signaled for them to be silent as he carefully trudged up the path first while ordering the others to remain in their place.

Matt stood shivering in the air, his whole body from the chest level down dripping wet as he gripped his tool case, holding its side with his left hand and gripping the combat knife with the other. A tense sensation began to drift up in him as the soldiers around him wordlessly waited for their lieutenant to return from his trip up. Sounds of battle could be heard as a stunning array of blinding fire filled up the sky, causing explosions to ring through the whole woodlands of Bareshia Bay. Right when Sergeant Thyce Eddie was about to signal the team to move out as Weber had not returned in less than two minutes, the lieutenant suddenly appeared, sliding down the slippery grass.

"I've dispatched two of the _ostruppen_ but I can't see any further than that because of the trees. We'll have to navigate through them before we can get our asses over to the other side." Weber informed, "Come on, we don't have all day."

His soldiers obediently complied as their boots gripped the slope and they began to pull themselves higher up the slope and through the thickets of bushes and tangle of roots. An ominous breeze came in from the north, making the branches of the trees tremor as leaves floated down upon the four soldiers and two technicians who strafed carefully around the narrowly placed trees before passing by the men whom the lieutenant had killed. Matt saw that each one of them had a carefully placed and silenced bullet in their heads. Turning away in disgust from the scarlet blood which had begun to cake around the area, they walked around AZ-RPG (_Anti-Zoid Rocket-Propelled Grenade_) crates that were littered in the area and pushed on.

The sounds of gunfire will still raging on before an igniting explosion occurred, though the cause of it was too far away for Matt and the rest of the men to see. There was the occasional murmuring from the Zenebas soldiers and the odd sounds of something heavy trampling on the grass. Matt's heartbeat began to quicken in fear and he turned to see Felt who was equally jittery, fiddling with the nylon wrapped around the handle of his combat knife, his face an image of anxiousness and fear. Matt felt exactly the same as they pushed through the final growth of small raspberry bushes to find a haunting sight that would cement the feeling of dread that had surrounded them the whole time.

Matt looked ahead to find the charred fuselage of the Double Sworder in the center, right next to the Red Horn IEMP with many equally burnt bodies of Zenebas _ostruppen_ surrounding it and the debris which must have exploded from it. Matt could even make out one of its antlers impaled into the grass as fire and smoke billowed from its interior. There was no way Flyboy 1 could have survived that crash. Weber took a prone stance and drew out his field periscopes, tightly pressing the zoom-in click wheel and letting out a bitter, "Damn."

Even at this distance, Matt could still see that the IEMP was undamaged though there were definitely heavy _ostruppen _casualties. But what had caused this imminent destruction? Perhaps the Zenebas troops were in possession of AA (_anti-air_) weapons that recon was not aware of prior to this incident? Thoughts ran through Matt's dazed head as he wondered whether there were any more enemy soldiers remaining. His question was answered with the silhouettes of approaching Zoids who ran through the flames, entering into their sight.

Two Black Rhimos units supported by a single Dimetrodon blazed through and Matt could tell they were one of the new Zoids developed by the Zenebas in their exile in Nyx. Matt noted the destruction of the Sworder by the Dimetrodon's still smoking 20mm linear laser guns, clearly not affected by the IEMP due to some faction-specific related technology and the Rhimos units' electromagnetic cannon. They trudged forward in lumbering, mechanical fashion as the _ostruppen _troops ran out to greet them. Weber turned back to his fellow men and saw them all, including Matt and Felt being equally stunned and shaken by the sudden turn of events. Now instead they were the ones who would be running away. Weber wiped the mixture of water, grime, and sweat off his face as he struggled to retain his composure. Trying to disguise his fear with determination, he spoke to his men with tight lips, "We're going to abort the mission. We're heading back to the canal and getting the f*** out of here before they c-"

_WHOOOM!!!_

A massive round from the Dimetrodon's TEZ laser gun smashed close to them, instantly shredding and burning Weber and Thomas into pieces that flayed violently in the air, raining blood down upon the remaining soldiers who toppled backwards by the force of the impact. Dirt rained down upon them too as the fallen leaves and debris surrounding them blew away too. Thick smoke lingered in the air as pieces that were thrown high up in the air began their descent and Matt, who had smashed right into the trunk of a tree, struggled to maintain his focus. He had already lost the grip of his knife and could see his many tools and devices scattered around his feet, some of them causing bruises to his skin and tearing his wet smock.

_I can't…can't see anything….noth….nothing…._

The thoughts ran wildly in his mind. _Have to f-find F-Fe…..Felt…._ Gripping the bark of the tree tightly with one hand and its gnarly roots with the other, he wiped the mixture of dirt and blood off his face as the leaves stuck in between the threads of his hair shuddered and fell off. In the distance, the sounds of shouting Zenebas soldiers and the imminent advancing of the enemy Zoids came closer and closer as Matt attempted to push himself up, struggling as he held the tree tightly by the sides and feeling his whole body numb and as twisted as a ragdoll. His head felt as though it was a weight weighing a thousand pounds and there was still the shrieking _ping_ from the round, temporarily disabling his hearing.

As he fought to maintain control, Matt blinked his eyes furiously and managed to spot Felt by his bright blue uniform in the distance. Limping over, he could feel hot blood dripping out of his mouth as he stepped weakly around the ripped body of Weber, whose abdomen had been gashed and blasted open, with his entrails having smeared crimson blood everywhere on the trees and earth. Using the trees close-by for support, Matt managed to lumber over to where Felt lay and nearly fell down to the ground as he shakily attempted to wake Felt up from his knockout.

"Felt…." He muttered hoarsely, "F*** it, Felt…"

A groan was the only response from Felt as Matt turned him over to find a sharp streak of flesh and blood on his side, clearly having been impaled by shrapnel. Matt looked down and saw Felt's amputated index bleeding anew. Felt moaned as Matt pulled him to his feet as they trudged carefully down and further into the woods as another round exploded near them, sending a single tree toppling onto the ground with a sickening thud that made more leaves and dirt ascend with the wind. The branches of the trees shook violently as the Zoids made their way through the woods and began firing their beam machine-guns at Saddis and Eddie who ran awkwardly further into the woods before getting torn to shreds by the rounds of energy emitted from the guns of the Zenebas weapons of destruction. Matt could feel his body getting seized in a confusing turmoil of agony and shellshock as he tripped over a root but managed to break his fall by grabbing another tree's body.

Whilst the Zoids had gone off in another direction, two _ostruppen _who had tagged along noticed Matt and Felt and ran towards them, one taking a kneeling position to pick off a round but narrowly missing Felt by the thigh. The other one slid his bayonet into his rifle and charged at Matt who was still stunned by the impact of the blow and was struggling to stay conscious. Felt, whose hearing was not impaired, turned around quickly and just as the _ostruppen_ charged, rammed him in the abdomen rapidly and effectively knocking the wind out of him with a whopping _crack!_ Felt then stumbled to the ground, his body nearly giving way before the enemy Zenebas Zoids suddenly broke through the trees and began firing at them!

Matt could make Felt next to him, squatting on the ground as he tried to compose his breath before another round exploded near them, a second time toppling them through the bushes which bruised and ripped their clothes and skin apart, sending them toppling like contortionists out of the woods and down the slope towards the canal where they fell into with a splash. Matt's vision became blurry and the last sounds he heard was those of Zenebas _ostruppen_ slipping down the slope to fire a few last rounds into the war, just as a precaution to check if they were dead.

_Felt…f***, where is he…._

_Bubbles….I can't breathe….what….._

_Zenebas….Zoids…..s***….._

_F***……._

Private First Class Timothy Zantard came down the slope and stopped right next to Private Danes Raemus before loading in another clip to his semiautomatic rifle and unloading more rounds into the canal, the bullets making tiny ripples in the water. When his whole clip was unloaded he holstered his rifle and turned to Raemus, "You think they could take that?"

Danes Raemus looked down and saw his reflection turn crimson in the water.

"F*** no, no one could have survived _that_."


	2. Chapter Two

**Author's Note:**

Sorry, but there's not much combat in this particular chapter. I just wanted to build up the cliffhanger in the last chapter, introduce a new character, and develop them both while simultaneously bringing in newer minor characters and expanding the plot slightly too. Minor spoiler here, but there's no Zoid combat in this chapter. Enjoy, and please, for the love of all that is good, please review!

**ZAC 2042, March 24****th**

**D-Day D+6, 1246 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G4**

T/3 Matthias Perry's eyes sprung open as a sudden and panging blow struck his temples. He groaned in pain as his rising spine lurched back and his head hit back onto the pillow. The convulsing images around him slowly came into place, the transient outlines of vague human figures and objects around him slowly coming into place. What first appeared to be pillars became doctors and nurses dressed in white slowly pacing around and giving doses of medication while things that appeared to be tables quickly shifted into their right places in Matt's mind and were actually beds in which the other patients just like him, lay in. Matt rubbed his pulsing forehead as the vivid objects became solid objects…._Just like that day Felt woke m-….Felt!_

With that single name his mind snapped back into complete focus and he pushed his body up to find a monitor patch strapped onto his arm and connected by a cable to a metallic box next to his bed that showed his vital life signs. His body felt awkward, as though it wasn't his and every muscle ached and yet it seemed as though his nerves were not fully connected. The room began to swing again as he reached for his temples only to find a bandage there, apparently stained with blood and partial bit of his bangs shaved off. There were bruises and stitches all over his body while his other arm lay in a cast with an electronic monitor built into it to monitor the situation of his wrist. As he frantically turned his head around the massed chaos of patients and staff that was the medical ward, he attempted to look for Felt.

Just at that moment, a man in a white coat, obviously a doctor walked up to him, taking each step slowly and cautiously towards Matt, who wasn't even aware of his existence up to the point that he introduced himself and said, "Hello there."

Matt's frantic eyes quickly turned to the direction of the sound. "Um. Oh, hello there. Excuse me, have you by any chance seen a technician by the name of Treus, Felt? Please, I need-"

The doctor smiled kindly, "Is he the technician officer who was with you?" His face turned into an expression of heartfelt worry, "He's a little banged up, we had to send him quickly to the ICU in G1."

"G1?" Matt asked as the panging in his head turning worse all of a sudden, "Where am I?"

"G4, you were from G2 am I correct?" the doctor asked patiently, "I'm sorry I need to ask you so many questions when you should be resting but its important that I need to know what happened."

"Yes, yes…." Matt said, rubbing his head with both hands, "My friend, will he be alright?"

"We're not sure about that here, no news from G1 as of now." The doctor replied, "I'm sorry, but if you don't mind me asking, what happened? I'm Doctor Tuplis, by the way."

"T-Tuplis…" Matt stuttered as he forced himself to think back, "Uh…we were part of a squad sent to disable an EMP….then we were ambushed and me and Felt were running away from Zoids….we fell into the canal…that's all I can recall."

"Ah yes, so that's how we found you washed up." Dr. Tuplis said, "One of our recon teams found you guys washed up next to the canal's end. Apparently the Zenebas' have unsealed the _Le Braquette_ locks to flood the ground at our section and demobilize our ground forces. How that will help them, I have no clue."

Matt changed the subject and asked, "How am I? Will _I _be alright?"

"Well, you needed a plasma transfusion, and were rather delusional when we found you," Dr. Tuplis said patiently, "You're pretty banged up and that wrist is sprained, but it'll be healing soon. Your head on the other hand, must have whacked the canal when you fell into it…we had to shave off some of your hair to seal off the wound. Your hair is rather thick, dare I say."

"So what happens to me now?"

"Well, you're labeled as a patient until you've recovered enough that we can transport you to G2 where you'll want to meet up with your respective unit…the er…." The doctor stopped to check the pad he was holding, "The 24th Engineering Division. For now just rest and relax. I'll get one of our staff to get you some food, you must be famished."

The doctor patted him on the shoulder lightly and told him to lie back on his pillow before walking away to get him something to eat. Matt lay back on his bed and stared at the foul, green ceiling, watching the hanging lamps sway as the voices and steps of the men and women around him ringed in his aching head. _Felt's probably alright…that guy's 'un-killable' for all I know…I just hope he didn't crack his skull or something. But me, well at least I get some rest….I should use the best of this 'break' I guess…it feels nice, actually. Just lying here…doing nothing. _He turned over and nestled his warm head a little into the pillow. _Yeah, it feels nice._

**ZAC 2042, March 24****th**

**D-Day D+6, 1415 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Somewhere close to the **_**Dummach**_** canal**

Sergeant Alan Graf had only been promoted to the rank of sergeant less than two days ago before being placed in charge of the 2nd Squad of the 517th PIR (_Paratrooper Infantry Regiment_). His CO, Lieutenant Robert En-Cole had promoted him from his 3rd Squad to be the sergeant for 2nd after it's original sarge, Sergeant Binkis Prekley had been killed by a Helic assault during a recon outpost. There was a superstition in the 517th that the 2nd Squad's sergeant somehow always got killed. They had already received four sergeant prior to Prekley, making Alan the fifth Sergeant of the bunch. Quite ironically, Alan was currently with the rest of 2nd Squad on a recon mission too, patrolling the area around the _Dummach_ canal as part of a daily patrol activity organized by the head of their base, Demon's Foot, which was around twenty-three meters from their current location and was a Zenebas outpost located at the foot of the now-burnt 'Round's Mountain.'

Alan, though knowing he was in-charge, felt an odd twinge of fear of his men as he took the point and led them through the marshy country. Even though he was a sergeant, he was a human, unlike the rest of his six men who were all pure-bred Zoidians. Humans were not accepted as widely in the Empire as they were in the Republic with most Zoidians considering them as 'weak.' Zoidian-humans were referred to as 'contaminated' and their human blood a 'disability.' Alan sighed as he adjusted his brown/green camouflage helmet and unbuckled the straps. Heading this squad with barely any experience under the rank of corporal before was not the way he wanted to start off. Why had Lt. En-Cole chose him anyways?

They passed by a miniature glen, made out of a rushing stream and mounds of dirt. Alan's boots stepped over branches with a snap as his Asp-21 submachine-gun dangled and swayed noisily as its strap hung from his neck. The water was running ankle-deep in this particular location but was not as deep as it was further north. Zenebas forces had opened the _Le Braquette _locks to slow down the enemy. His men followed closely behind, and Alan felt a little tense, knowing their razor-sharp eyes were boring into his back. He opened the clasp of the paracompass he was holding and determined up to which point he and his men were supposed to go to. Turning back towards his men briefly, he informed them, "We've only got about a few meters more to go, come on."

Walking further through the woods, they came across some debris, mainly old chevron-shaped pieces of architecture that must have been tossed from someone further up in their aerial bombing campaign five days prior. _Perhaps there's something further up there. _

"Make sure you don't get lost," Alan warned them as they trailed around the many trees blocking their way in the winding woods, "I don't want anybody being reported as MIA today."

As they walked further up north, nearly reaching their destination, Alan's ears picked up the sound of men talking and immediately hissed softly, "Down!" His men all responded like trained dogs, trained killers and immediately dropped to a prone stance, carefully sliding the safety catches off their weapons as their special camo uniforms blended in with the autumn leaves on the earth. Alan took a kneeling stance too and gripped the Asp-21 in his hand before twisting the safety catch to _F_ for fire on his gun. Immediately and reflexively he yanked the binoculars that was placed in his pouch and placed them to his eyes. Further up in the distance he could make out the enormous shape of what appeared to be a building.

"What is it?" one of the soldiers asked.

'That's what is it, sir, to you, soldier. Now shut up." Alan responded quietly yet harshly. He felt a little bad after voicing it like this but he knew he needed to show the grit that a human had, "There's a big building. Looks like a chateau."

"A cha-what?" Another soldier asked, albeit more quietly.

Alan sighed, "It's what you guys call '_endangment_' in Ancient Zoidian."

"You could have just called it _mansion_." The soldier responded sulkily.

"I could have." Alan shot back as he spun the magnification wheel, "There are a few 'Lics there…setting up some kind of anti-personnel cannon. They've also got a small Zoid next to them, 'bout ten feet tall and looks like a freaking ostrich-dinosaur."

"What color is it?" yet another of his men asked.

Alan rolled his eyes. Were all Zoidians this inquisitive? "Grey, with translucent purple."

"It's a Battlerover then." The man confirmed as the other soldiers nodded in silent agreement.

"How do you know that?" Alan asked, appearing partially interested though completely not at all as he checked the three other tommy-gun style drums for his submachine-gun in his satchel and the remaining ammunition for his sidearm.

"We captured a few of them from a Helic outpost the day _Bikinis _died." The soldier explained with a sneer. The rest of his men broke into muffled laughter. Alan rolled his eyes for a second time. _At least their not racist against names. English insults for Zoidian-based names. These people are incredible._

"Ok, that was pretty funny but now will you guys please _shut up_!" Alan whispered, his voice sounding quite strained. His men immediately silenced themselves, or rather _attempted _to silence themselves as chuckles of laughter still went on, though far more hushed. "They're in front of the chateau's wall; we shouldn't flank 'em…I'd rather call in for support first at least."

Instantly he heard one of the Helic soldiers say, "Hey, Jones can you load a shell in? I wanna see if this baby can blow." Alan's face turned pale white. They were right in front of the f*****' cannon! He turned to his men swiftly as he heard 'Jones' slip a shell into the field gun's chamber and the other Helic's hand grip the handle. "Scatter!"

With no sense or time to turn around, all of his men, including Alan himself charged forward through the wood and into the open sight of the enemy, scattering into left and right directions just as the shell flew from the cannon and exploded right where they were moments before. There was a brief moment of hesitation from the Helic soldiers but that was all the Zenebas men needed as they hit the dirt and let out steady streams of fire. Alan's elbows hit the tar road as he placed the submachine-gun's iron sights to his eye level and squeezed the trigger, sending out several rounds from his tommy barrel, which rattled at the bullets leaving its chamber. His men did the same, and soon all of the Helic men, which constituted of about four soldiers, were dead excluding two who had taken cover behind the artillery cannon's shield.

Alan ordered his men with his hands to keep their guns on the cannon but not fire. Speaking with a loud and clear cadence, he said to the Helic soldiers, "We've got seven guns trained on your balls right now so you better tell me how many f***-damn Helics are in that chateau right now!"

"Cha-what?" one of the Helic soldiers asked tremblingly.

"He means mansion!" one of his own men piped in helpfully as Alan placed a hand on his forehead and sighed. Turning back to his own soldiers, he signaled his squad to cautiously fall out and advance on the cannon's position before calling out to the soldiers, "Get in front of the cannon, now! And don't try nothing' funny!"

The Helic soldiers did not budge and Alan let out a few careful rounds to ping on the shield before they finally reluctantly agreed and dropped their rifles before placing their hands in the air and shouting, "We surrender!" Alan looked down at the dead bodies he and his men just killed and then turned his attention back to them.

"How many?" he asked again, menacingly.

"Just us!" one of the Helic soldiers cried, his voice reaching a panicking crescendo, "We were sent here to secure the area!"

"Where's your HQ?" Alan asked again, this time pushing it a bit further.

"W-We…we can't tell you…" the other one stuttered.

"Then we'll have to kill one of you, now tell me!" Alan shouted.

"N-No, we'd rather die than-"

"Fine, I'll make you f****** POWs and _then _you'd rather die. I'm telling you, we Imperial people aren't so nice the way we treat our little prizes. You either tell us, we let you bury your mates and kill you or we drop you off at our little POW camp and you can be f*****' eunuchs for all the men in charge there care for."

The faces of the Helic soldiers immediately turned deadly pale before the second one finally yelled, "OK, OK! It's two-hundred meters north-east from here, south of the_ Ruädich_ canal!" The first one, seemingly outrageously furious by the display of betrayal began to wrestle with his friend as they elbowed one another.

"Hey, cut that s*** out!" Alan roared and they immediately snapped back to attention.

"Listen here, and get down on your feet." He turned back to his men, who were still keeping their rifles trained on the Helic soldiers, "I want Barthol and Darms to check them for any secret weapons they might have before setting them to mortician duty. McVay, I want you to salvage their stuff for any supplies. Alycon and Hailay I want you two to head into the chateau and announce if the area is clear. Be careful. And you, what's your name again?" he asked as he pointed to the youngest soldier of the bunch, lugging a field radio.

"Besseus, sir. Private Yutmich Besseus, sir." The soldier said, his piercing blue eyes burning with anger as the field radio's straps made creases in his uniform.

"Right, Bess, get that field radio cranking and call Devil's that we've got their location, POWs, and a new outpost."

"How the hell am I gonna do that?!!" Bess roared in insubordination, "I'm a soldier, not a f*****' radio-man!"

Alan placed a hand over the soldier's head and patted him affectionately saying, "You're a smart kid, you'll figure it out soon enough."

"I'm not a f****** kid."

"And you're not a f****** radio-man either, I heard." Alan retorted with a smile as he walked over and began to hum to no one in particular.

**ZAC 2042, March 26****th**

**D-Day D+8, 1015 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G4**

Life was good for Matt for several hours. Or rather only one day. It had only been two days that he had been in the medical ward and apparently the wound on his head was healing quite nicely, the 'material medication' they had given to him had completely fixed back his wrist, and he was eating a warm breakfast of eggs and bread brought to his bed. He flexed his wrist, feeling the sensation that sent a sense of security to him as he grabbed a fork and dug into the scrambled eggs, feeling the warm and succulent goodness of chicks-not-developed on his wet tongue. As he was enjoying his breakfast, Doctor Tuplis, who had been taking care of him these few days walked up to him, his face ashen.

"Hey there, Matt, I got some good news, and some bad news." The doctor said hurriedly.

Matt spread some butter on his toast before asking, "What's the good news?"

"The good news is that we don't have to stitch your head up." The doctor said with a faked smile.

"And the bad news?"

"You're being deported back to G2 and assigned to a new squad."

Matt choked on his buttered toast as he was swallowing it. Doctor Tuplis waited, a little embarrassed and obviously distressed as Matt coughed and made strange throaty noises before managing to croak, "I think I'm having a seizure."

"Calm down, Matt, it's no big deal," Dr. Tuplis reassured, "It's something that was going to happen anyway. You'll be picked up with a few others to head towards G2 by supply truck today afternoon." In the idiosyncratic way he always did, he flipped a few pages on his clipboard before saying, "Your new squadron is part of the 187th Tank Battalion."

"What the hell is a tank?!" Matt asked, suddenly having lost his appetite.

"You know, one of those things humans made…the hundred wheels thingy that walks on threads and has a built-in gun…" Dr. Tuplis said absent-mindedly, "I'll get one of the nurses to head over with your clothes and stuff, your dog tags, oh, and apparently you're supposed to be issued with a rifle."

"A rifle?" Matt nearly shrieked, "I'm a f****** technician, not a soldier! And what, they want me now to drive a damn hundred-wheel thingy?!!"

"Matt, please, keep your voice down!" Tuplis scolded as a couple hundred heads turned towards him.

"I'll keep my f****** voice down when you tell me why they want me as a tank driver!" Matt shouted.

"I never said driver, Matt," Dr. Tuplis said, his voice reaching a few notches lower, "You're supposed to be the radio-man of a tank. And apparently the commander of the tank too. You're a T/3, third-grade technician right? That means you're technically under the rank of staff sergeant, giving you rights to lead a squad."

Before Matt could let out an outburst, Tuplis patted Matt lightly on the shoulder and said, "I'll call you when the truck's here," before walking off at a stumbling pace as Matt quietly stared down at the plate of eggs and bread. He grabbed the fork with his right hand and stabbed it into the mush of yellow eggs.

***

It would be several hours later, past noon that a nurse walked up to him and informed him that the supply truck had arrived. Handing him his recently ironed uniform, his dog tags, and a rifle, she led him towards the changing room, something he reluctantly did. When he exited the changing room, dressed in full combat attire and service cap, Matt found the nurse waiting for him and she led him weaving through the medical ward to its exit, where other patients were being led to supply truck parked there. Wordlessly he followed her as she led him to the back of the truck where a couple of other soldiers and technicians were already waiting. He boarded the truck, said thanks to the nurse and took a seat next to one soldier.

_A tank battalion? I don't even have any s***** experience with armored units!_ Matt thought furiously in his head as he cradled the rifle in his hand. _And now they want me to command a tank?! How many people are there in a tank, anyways….and what about Felt? What's going to happen to him?_

His thoughts were instantly broken by the soldier sitting next to him who said, "Hey, you might want to turn the safety catch."

Matt turned to him in surprise, "The safety catch?"

"On your rifle, that little black knob there," the soldier patiently explained, "A safety's used to make sure you don't accidentally discharge your weapon."

Matt felt rather flushed as he quickly clicked the safety back on as the soldier introduced himself while other men poured in, "Hey, I'm Sergeant Hanks Allen." He said as he offered his hand.

Matt took it and replied, "Tech. Officer Matt Perry." He made an awkward pause before asking, "Um….no offence, but are you human? It's just that your name sounded like one."

Hanks laughed softly, "None taken. Yes, I am of course. A second-generation human I am, born and bred on Zi. Now if you don't mind _me_ asking, why are you holding a rifle if you're a techie, or at least dressed like one?"

"I've been re-assigned," Matt replied with a moan, "To a tank battalion. A tank battalion of all things! Do you know what a tank is? I have to be the commander!"

"A tank?" Hanks asked, "Sure, my parents taught me about them caterpillar-type things. They're like mini-Molgas with fancy cannons."

"Exactly, and me, a technician with no actual combat experience, has to take charge of a tank when I should be recovering in the medical ward!" Matt exclaimed, enjoying the sensation of venting his spleen to someone.

"You too?" Hanks asked, a little surprised himself, "I'm thrown back into combat duty myself too! Apparently they've got a shortage of manpower so anybody who's available is assigned to combat. The Zenebas bombing campaign is reaching its peak now, and over nine divisions have lost more than half their men."

Matt took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair, "S***, really? How the hell do you even 'command' a tank?"

"F*** if I know," Hanks responded as he sat back on his seat and the truck suddenly began moving. Its wheels sent debris and smoke up from the gravel and the exhaust belched out black miasma into the air as the truck began to move forward and around the buzzing activity of G4.

"You're stationed in G2, too?" Hanks asked as the truck drove around the armory department.

"Yeah, you?" Matt replied.

"Same here. I've been re-assigned to a new squad, I'm going to be the NCO, apparently." Hanks replied with a weary groan, "Were you there during the Zenebas' first wave?"

"I was in Dallas the day it happened, our division pulled back past Round's so we were never there during the bombing," Matt explained, "What the hell was it anyways?"

"It's some kind of energy-absorbing bomb. The explosion was so titanic that there was seismic activity for three days at least," Hanks responded, "The mountain's still there, though it's now a burning mountain. I was pulling back from Round's Mountain around the time they began ascending it, trying to find a way in."

"We're probably going to lose this war at this rate, who knew the Zenebas forces would return?"

"We knew they would eventually," Hanks answered, "We just weren't that prepared that they would attack Bareshia Bay of all places, our stronghold, _and _have new Zoids too."

"Apparently they're of Guylos design." Matt murmured.

"What, Guylos? Like the emperor who attacked in the 1900s?" Hanks questioned, clearly surprised.

"It's the same man, that's what intelligence believes," Matt said, "They were recorded as having come from the Dark Continent when they attacked Delpoli in the 1900s and that's where the Empire fled to in ZAC 2039."

"Hmm…" Hanks droned, clearly still pondering over this revelation.

Matt leaned forward to watch the view from the open back of the supply truck. They were driving away, slowly now from the front gates of G4 where _gendarmeries _were stationed and towards the woodlands, where they'd arrive to G2 soon enough.

_And I'll be re-assigned as a tank commander_, Matt added in his mind bitterly.

**ZAC 2042, March 26****th**

**D-Day D+8, 1410 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Chateau Cheryl**

Even in the afternoons when the sun was up, the weather around Delpoli was generally cool, a vibe Sergeant Alan Graf reviled in as he walked around the newly-named 'Chateau Cheryl' and studied the place. The chateau (he insisted on it being called and named that) was now being re-furbished as an outpost by the 165th and 168th EDs and members of infantry divisions were being transported to the chateau as well. It was actually not a particularly old building, perhaps over ten years old, but had fallen into ruin and from the its pickled remains, Alan could still tell that it was of human design and architecture. _Perhaps humankind will imprint their legacy on this world._

Alan was a first-generation human, meaning that he was born and bred to a certain age on Earth before he boarded the Global 3 ship at the age of thirteen and the subsequent crash of the ship on Zi on ZAC 2029. There had been a massive 'world civil war' that had occurred back on Earth and people had to be evacuated from the dying planet on seventeen 'Global' starships that jumped through light years to discover new and available planets to inhabit in. The Global 3 had an engine failure and crashed onto Zi, with all first-generation humans having been passengers on that particular starship.

A rather old lady, dressed in complete military attire with a combat shotgun slung around her shoulder walked up towards Alan with a stride of a complete sense of control and authority. Alan turned to her as she approached him and said with a crisp voice, "You must be Staff Sergeant Graf, of the 517th PIR, am I correct?"

Alan nodded, "Yes I am, ma'am." He responded carefully as he spotted the rank of a Major affixed on the lady's uniform, "And you are?"

"Major Patricia Talbot of the 520th PIR," she declared and Alan smiled in astonishment, "Is that a human name?"

"Why of course it is," Major Talbot responded as she strode around, "You are a human too, naturally. I can tell from your name, it's of a German descent."

"Yes it is, ma'am," Alan agreed.

"Good job on securing this for an outpost anyways," Major Talbot declared, "It's a good, steady distance from Devil's Foot and we'll need it for Backlash."

"Backlash? What does that mean, ma'am?" Alan asked, slightly perplexed.

"Your CO never told you?" The major asked, a little surprised herself, "Operation: Backlash?"

"No, ma'am," Alan confirmed, "I have not had any word from my CO."

"Well in that case let me enlighten you," the major said, "Backlash is the follow-up operation to our D-Day assault. As you know, we've unlocked the _Le Braquette_ locks to flood the area, effectively halting or at least slowing down the mobility of the Helic units to advance into our area."

Alan nodded and then asked, "Yes, but how will that help us? Won't that affect _our_ ground troops, too?"

"Who said anything about the ground?" Major Talbot asked with a smile, "You're a paratrooper, are you not? A _fallschirmjäger_, right? As you should know, the destruction of the Round's Mountain base substantially crippled their once stronger air superiority. Now, _we_ have the upper hand in the air and that's when PIR's like yours come into Backlash."

"I get that the plan is for the air force to slice up the 'Lic infantry from the air but where do we come in, ma'am?"

"Ah…" the major replied with a smirk, one that a Mrs. Know-it-all tended to wear, "Even if we de-mobilize them, they might still be able to call for back-up from their closest outpost, located near a town named 'Aarhem.' The only links via land to Aarhem is by two bridges. No canals ever lead there and the infantry have to build Bailey bridges just to get across some of the regions. It'll be your paratroopers' job to secure the bridges."

'Making it a flank of some sort," Alan concluded.

"Hence the name 'backlash,'" Major Talbot added, "Though I would have found 'backstab' more convincing."

"Hmm," Alan agreed and nodded his head once more before asking, "So when will Backlash occur? Should I inform my men prior to it, ma'am?"

"Tomorrow is the expected d-day, though your unit might not be participating as your CO did not inform you," Major Talbot mused, "But chances are that you might as well be assigned to it as the 518th and 520th PIRs might need some additional support, the distance between the bridges is a fair amount. There'll even be some sappers participating, I expect."

"Of the 8th Combat Engineering Division?" Alan inquired.

"Of course, they're the only sappers who have arrived on Delpoli. Well, more divisions are coming in few weeks time but we need to get the operation rolling right now, when the Helics are still too stunned and weak in manpower to deliver counter-fire."

"Flank 'em when you've suppressed them." Alan quoted.

"Flank 'em when you've suppressed them." Major Talbot agreed. She then grabbed the butt of her combat shotgun and began to walk off while saying, "Just in case though, sergeant, you might want to inform your men."

Alan saluted her as she departed and replied, "Yes, ma'am, I'll see to that."

Alan stood there for a brief moment as the major walked off to attend to other business before making his way around the chateau to find where his men were. In less than a minute he had located Barthol, McVay, and Alycon smoking outside the chateau and playing with a deck of cards. He then found Darms caught up in a brawl with a drunken soldier (having needed to pull him away) and Hailay setting up a field sink with the help of members of engineering divisions. Finally, as he told them the entire squad to wait for him outside in the chateau gardens, he paced off, intent on searching for Private Besseus, who had pervaded him as of now.

Eventually, he found the private sitting in a corner where wall moss was growing and with headphones on his head, was twisting the knobs on the field radio. Alan walked up to him with a rather pissed-off look and said, "What did I tell you, you figured how to use that thing soon enough."

"Shh!" the private replied, again showing his disrespect for authority, "I'm trying to pick up Helic local radio frequencies."

The staff sergeant's face when from mildly irritated to slightly furious as he stood with his arms folded, tapping his boot impatiently while Bess continued to spin the knobs. Finally, he let go of the radio and pressed the headphones closer to his ear. His expression turned from excitement into a creased-up frown before taking the headphones off.

"What the hell is this s***?" Bess asked Alan, "Some kind of human music?"

Alan crouched down and grabbed the headphones before placing it to his ears. He paused for a moment as the thumping bass hit his ears and replied, "It's called rap music, dimwit."

"Music? How the hell is that music?" Bess roared, though he did seem a little confused, "its reciting poetry while music plays in the background, any f***** can do that."

"You have to go with the beat of the background music and your poetry has to rhyme well too, not just stupid one-syllable stuff but like, assonances and conso- kinda s*** and all that," Alan attempted to explain, feeling quite flustered before cutting in, "Look, I need you to follow me. We're having a squad meeting here."

Bess reluctantly got up and slung the field radio over his shoulder and then placed the headphones over his head, listening to the music. His face was annoyed for a while as they walked around the chateau's main block but soon he began to bob his head with the thumping bass, which was so loud that Alan could hear it, even when walking a meter away from him.

"Hmm…it's not that bad, I suppose," Bess said softly, "There is a form of catchiness to this kind of music."

"Better than Zoidian folk s***, eh?" Alan asked.

"That's not even music," Bess said with a sneer, "The guitars sound like cats being dragged on a motorway."

Alan laughed at the simile and so did Bess. "That's not that far away from the truth of a comparison," Alan commented as they closed in on the other five men who sat, cussing and grumbling to one another in silence. Bess took a seat next to Alycon as Alan took off his helmet and ran his hair through his thick, copper hair.

The helmet wasn't like a standard-issue paratrooper helmet. While it did have the added chinstrap, the helmet was not rounded and molded in black but was rather a modified model of the standard infantry helmet with camouflage placed on it. The helmet had once belonged to another soldier, Alan simply got it from the armory after losing his in a skirmish. On the left side of the helmet was the name 'Fluff' etched onto it. Perhaps this was the previous' owner's dog, Alan didn't know. On the right side he had painted a black parachute, symbolizing his place as a paratrooper.

Alan gripped the helmet tightly as he spoke, "Ok men, I hope you've had a good rest for now but there's something you should be informed about. Technically, we're not a part of it and our regiment's CO, Lt. En-Cole hasn't told me anything about it. I got it from another CO."

"So why are you telling us this?" Barthol asked.

"Just in case there's no time for a briefing. And I'll be damned if I'm taking chances."


	3. Chapter Three

**Author's Note:**

This chapter's considerably shorter than the previous two, especially the first one. Seems as though my chapters get shorter as each one passes, unlike my first fanfic, D Day, which was entirely the opposite. Point aside, I've taken this chapter to develop a little, the major conflict in which the soldiers are placed in, and what is about to happen, eventually leading to a crossroads between the two lead protagonists. If you've read WWII history, (or at least played some WWII FPS games and picked up few scraps of info here and there) you'll realize some of the similarities between the situation presented here and the real-life D Day's follow-up, Operation Market Garden.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 0918 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Aarhem Outpost**

Brigadier General Lois Lian adjusted her crimson beret pinned with medals as she sat in her seat in front of the planning desk as the other senior brass of the Aarhem outpost gathered around the table, where a gigantic map of the Bareshia Bay sector and a smaller one of their position was laid out, complete with tools such as compasses and large meter-long rulers. The brigadier general waited patiently as the men took their seats, she being the only female in the room before leaning towards the table and her fingers interlocking with one another. Her eyes carefully drifting from one soldier to the other, she finally began the meeting.

"We're in a dire situation here. In eight days we've lost air superiority to the Zenebas forces, lost two major bases in the Bareshia Bay sector, the general of the sector currently in a dangerous situation in the woodlands and with us being their only aid." Brigadier General Lian said with no emotion, "To add to that, we've lost communication with them due to electromagnetic pulses set by the Zenebas bastards _and _they've severely flooded our other forces with the unlocking of a set of canal dams.

"With several of our C3s down due to the pulses, including radar and our satellite technology and arms, we're in a very futile position to retaliate now," The general continued, "I've ordered all available CP-05 heavy beam-cannons to be mounted on every Cannon Tortoise available, thus eliminating the aerial threat."

"What I'm mainly worried about is what the Zenebas forces will do next? Naturally, they'll have a follow-up operation to crush us when we're weak." Lian added, "But that's not our job to do. Our job is to be able to counter this follow-up operation, be aware of what might happen to us and be able to stop it before anything else happens. That's what we're supposed to do."

The brigadier general took a brief pause as she adjusted her collar.

"So…any questions?"

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1120 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G2**

Technician Officer Matthias Perry had arrived back at G2 a mere day ago before his CO, Tech. Sergeant Eltham Bryce had called him at 1045 hours after he'd finished his breakfast at the mess hall to head down to the fields surrounding the base camp to meet his new squad at 1130 hours. Matt had decided to take the initiative by setting out early, and possibly even being able to locate the tank he was tasked with commanding. The fields were used to store larger vehicles, such as tanks and Zoids, were kept and the area was constantly maintained and watched by both soldiers and engineers. It took awhile for Matt to weave through the confusing village that had become the Base Camp G2 before he found the exit leading to the fields and walked towards the distance, where he could make out the many Zoids and other vehicles were parked.

The blades of grass were long and sharp, reaching up to Matt's thighs and though it was reaching noon and the first rays of sunlight were breaking through, the dew of the morning still clung on, soaking Matt's technician pants. He had decided not to bring his rifle along, considering there was no use in doing so. The air was cooling and induced calm into Matt's mind as he realized how large the 'parking area' was. Soldiers and engineers patrolled the area, fully armed with rifles with several positions of machine-guns mounted on sandbag defilades. Barbed wire and crow's feet tank traps were also planted across and Matt had to carefully walk around these before he went up to an engineer and asked,

"S'cuse me, could you tell me where the tank unit of…" he paused and drew out a piece of paper with Tech. Sgt. Bryce's writing on it, "4th Squad under the 187th Tank Battalion is?"

"187th Tank Battalion?" the engineer now asked, looking quite the confused man, "There's no such battalion."

Another engineer walked over and tipped his helmet before saying to his fellow friend, "The 187th Cavalry Battalion is what this lad's talking about. They've changed their names, you know, after all their horses were burnt in Dallas Triangle and we had the tanks flown in from Aarhem."

"Ah!" the first engineer said in realization as he flipped through papers on a clipboard, "Here, let me show you 4th Squad's tank."

They walked through a whole column of tanks which were all parked and being serviced. All except the last unit which the engineer brought Matt to. "Here you go," the engineer introduced as he tapped the hull of the ochre-colored vehicle affectionately, "The M35-20 tank, human-designed. Its nickname is the 'War Demon.'"

"So this is a tank…" Matt muttered as he walked around the armored vehicle, studying the AFV's (_armored fighting _vehicle) threads, its massive tank gun, the hatches for both the commander and the gunner, the barrel of fuel strapped on its back, the canvas, working tools, and towing rope that covered the length of the vehicle, "The whole thing's human-made and designed…does that mean that the members of this battalion are all human?"

"Well," the engineer said with a sigh, "Originally, the 187th was made out of both Zoidian and human members but after the tanks were shipped in, the brass reasoned that humans would be more familiar with their type of warfare and the Zoidian members of the battalion were swapped for human soldiers of other units before being re-assembled as the 187th Tank Battalion."

"So that means all the members of my squadron will be human?" Matt asked, his brow creasing to slight worry.

"Exactly," the engineer answered.

"So why am I in this battalion then, if I'm Zoidian?" Matt questioned the engineer again.

"Who knows, perhaps there aren't any more humans left in G2?" the engineer suggested.

"That's a reasonable answer, I suppose."

***

It would be at exactly eleven minutes later and one minute after the appointed meeting time that all the members of the 4th Squad, 187th Tank Battalion were gathered in front of the 'War Demon.' Matt confirmed with Tech. Sgt. Bryce that he was indeed, the first choice as while all the other technicians had positions to fill, Matt was currently not under any operation and was so given the temporary rank of Warrant Sergeant, as a fill-in for the 4th Squad, who apparently had not had a NCO to lead their team in four days. There were four other members of the 4th Squad, Corporal Dom Weibe as the gunner, Private Hayate Buto as the loader, Private Naylor Ward as the machine-gunner and Pfc. Alois Reug manning the vehicle itself. Matt was to be the tactical commander, spotter, and radio-man too.

"Sir," Matt asked Sgt. Bryce with a whisper, "Were you the one who selected me as this squad's NCO?"

"Indeed I did," Bryce replied with his trademark phrase, "I've now got to take up the job of being CO for the 187th too. I've been given the rank of 'Warrant Lieutenant.'"

"Because frankly I have had not much combat experience, let alone _tank_ combat experience. I can barely control a Zoid, what are the chances of me taking charge of a tank?" Matt asked in bewilderment.

"Zero to none, in my opinion," Sgt. Bryce replied with a hearty chuckle, "Hey, you're not the only one. I'm sorry son, but you were the only one off-duty and Felt's still under the ICU, anyways."

"Felt? How is he, anyways?" Matt asked, genuinely concerned.

"I haven't got much word on him from G1, yet. There are two more EMPs, these time proper ones, being set up in different regions so our communications are quite disabled for now." The sergeant explained, "At least until we get the advanced electronic men coming in from Aarhem."

By the time their conversation had come to a conclusion, Matt's new squad mates had already gathered in front of the tank in a single file and were eyeing their new NCO with a mixture of suspicion and confusion. Matt turned his attention back to his four new men and found all of their gazes towards his clothes. He looked down. The blue technician overalls did stand out the way county jail orange jumpsuits stood out in the crowd. All of them were wearing camouflaged attire and each one of them had a helmet along with them too and a sidearm. Matt, on the other hand, was stuck with a service cap on his head and without even a combat knife in his pocket. Tech. Sgt. Bryce coughed once to signal Matt to begin the briefing before Matt finally took the hint and faced his four men, standing awkwardly in his overalls.

"Hello, everybody," Matt said, his voice rather uneasy, "I'm your new commander, Warrant Sergeant Matthius Perry, you can call me Sergeant Matt though."

He took a brief pause while everyone still stared at his overalls waiting for an explanation. "As you can see from my attire," he said, indicating at his blue uniform, "I'm a f*****' technician. But we don't have any more eh….humans in G2 so I've been assigned as the substitute tank commander for your squad."

"And so eh…" Matt stumbled a little, "I'd like to get to know each one of you so we can er….be effective on the battlefield?" He turned to Bryce for help and the Sgt. just shrugged. Turning back towards his new men, he quickly improvised, "Um, so if you could each introduce yourselves…"

"Corporal Dominic Weibe, sir!" the first man, a stout Hispanic-looking figure with a goatee, "I'm in charge of aiming the tank's gun, sir. Been serving the Helic Military for five years now, used to serve in the 88th Cavalry Regiment before being transferred here, sir."

Matt shook his hand and replied, "Good to know that, and you are?" he asked, pointing to the next soldier, a red-headed and freckled-face youngster.

"Private First Class Alois Reug, sir!" the Pfc. introduced himself as.

"Reug?" Matt asked, "Isn't that a Zoidian name?"

"Yessir, I am a second-generation human, sir!" Pfc. Reug replied, "I'll be driving this baby here, sir, you won't have to worry about a thing when I'm behind the gears."

Matt nodded and walked over to the next soldier, a spindly white man with a beard and pince-nez style glasses who introduced himself, "Private Naylor Ward, sir! Previously a member of the 97th Infantry Regiment, was transferred here after the rest of my regiment as killed in Round's Mountain, sir! I'll be manning the machine-gun sir, been a gunner all my life and ain't gonna stop now!"

The last soldier, clearly the youngest, perhaps eighteen or so, was of Asian descent and merely said, "Private Hayate Buto, sir." Matt noted the youngster's stance, a dangling and messy posture, with his dog tags dangling out his pocket and his smock unbuttoned and dangling from his thighs.

"Now that you've got the know one another," Warrant Sgt. Bryce declared, "It's probably time that I should inform you of your first assignment."

All eyes went to Sgt. Bryce and they all snapped into attention. Matt could feel his hands trembling somewhat involuntarily as he stuffed them within his jumper's pockets and tried to keep a composed face. "Now," Bryce began, "As you all know, those damned Zenebas asses have unsealed the _Le Braquette _locks, thereby and steadily flooding our areas. G1 and G4 have already been affected but we won't be, at least not until two or three days later."

"As you all know as well, the EMPs around the area have severely disabled our connections with the closest headquarters at Aarhem so they are not aware of how dire our situation is. Our rally points are going down soon if we don't call in for support." The sergeant made a pause before resuming, "As most of our forces are currently engaged in combat, the top brass has decided to select you and the other five tanks of the 187th to 'manually' mobilize to one of the two bridges further up north in order to make it to Aarhem and inform them of our situation. Plus, it's perfect tank country; wide open spaces with no hinders."

Matt's panicked face quickly dropped in favor of a coolly relieved one. _Whew! At least we won't be engaged in any combat._ He told himself, _sounds easy enough, just drive there, cross the bridge, and call for help. No sweat._

"The expected ETD; or d-day is tomorrow, at 0510 hours, perfectly as dawn breaks so the enemy won't have time to launch any aerial attacks as you make your way across the Bareshia plains. The technicians will strap you in with extra barrels of fuel and spare threads. We'll also load you out with some infantry weapons in-case you need to make a quick getaway. Let's see….we've supplied your tanks with sabot, AZ (_anti-Zoid_) and HEAT (_high-explosive anti-tank_) rounds for your guns." Bryce said as he checked his clipboard.

"What are we supposed to tell them when we get there?" Matt asked.

"That's where you NCOs come in," Lt. Bryce said with a smile, "I've given each tank commander a copy of a pre-recorded video by the top himself, General Frank R. Kades, specifically informing Aarhem about our situation. Just hand the tape to Colonel Eton James there. It may be an archaic style of communication but with the Zenebas able to break our espionage codes, at least the tape would be useless to them, considering they don't have tape recording machines."

"Courtesy of us humans," Corporal Weibe said with a smile and the others chuckled amongst themselves. Matt alone felt rather nervous inside as the conversation of 'good ol' tapes' dragged on before Sgt. Bryce ordered them to begin a test-drive for the tank, just to see how their coordination on the battlefield would go.

They all agreed to give it a go and Pfc. Reug was the first man to open the driver hatch and slide in whilst Private Ward followed closely behind. Private Buto unclasped the turret hatch and slid inside in a serpentine fashion while Corporal Weibe gave Matt a thumbs-up as he himself got into the turret. Matt watched all of his men get to their respective positions before going in through the driver hatch, his hands firmly grabbing the fabric cushioning the rim of the hatch. He slowly lowered himself into the tank and had to bend his head to stumble his way to the commander's seat where in-built periscopes and a field radio were situated close to the seat.

"The techies have loaded y'all with a few blank rounds!" Lt. Bryce informed, "Drive further up ahead; we have some small automatons prepared to be taken down by machine-gun and larger, mobile ones to practice swift turret motion and the tank's gun!"

Matt mumbled a yes sir as he struggled to latch the harness around his vest before testing the periscope's range of motion. In front of him was Reug, who peered through a small slit in the armor and Ward, next to Reug and keeping his steady fingers on the heavy-machine gun with plenty of bandoliers next to him to spare. Directly on top of him was the harness where Weibe was ready with the gun's x10 scope and Buto next to him, his hands wrapped around the first round, marked with the grey ring around it that all blank rounds were marked with.

"All right, we're ready to mobilize." Matt declared as he placed the headphones around his head, linking him to every other soldier within the tank, "PFC; get this thing rolling."

Reug followed the order and released the clutch before pulling the acceleration stick. The tank roared to live as the exhaust behind it stuttered before belching out gas as the sprocket grabbed hold of the track and the idlers, sending the lumbering colossus forward. The grass shifted and crunched beneath its weight as Reug slowly steered the War Demon to a ninety-degree turn, aligning it with the designated spot where the automatons were situated. Outside, Warrant Lieutenant Bryce unveiled a red flag and waved it high in the air, signaling the sergeant further up north for the activation of both the mobile automatons and non-mobile ones.

"Be careful!" Lt. Bryce cried, "The smaller automatons are firing live rounds, since we don't have ay 7.92 mm blank ones!"

_Splendid_, Matt thought sarcastically in his head as he peered through the periscopes which sprouted out from above the tank. Using its zoom-in function, he swiveled the device carefully and caught side of four small automatons readily deploying their gatling guns. Staring at the devices for a few more moments, he then turned to his men and said through the headphones' microphone, "Gunner, prepare to engage enemy, driver, pivot eleven o' clock."

As the automatons steadily fired their .30 caliber rounds towards the glacis plate of the machine, Reug spun the tank slightly towards the direction of two of the automatons as Ward adjusted his sight. Once he was satisfied, he squeezed the trigger with steady, short bursts with pauses in between them. The ammunition belt of the gun rattled as the machine-gun spewed its bullets till the first automaton was disabled and went down in a flurry of fumes and bullet-holes. Ward waited for a moment until the machine-gun had cooled down a little before letting loose another stream of bullets to the second automaton, this time easily immobilizing the device by firing at its limbs.

Whilst this was going on, Matt was staring through his periscopes and counted two more non-mobile automatons and five more mobile ones. The mobile ones were much tougher, firing .40 caliber rounds that were blinding flashes in the air as they rammed themselves onto the tank's hull. "PFC! Pivot two o'clock from your position!" Matt cried over the intercom, "Corporal, is the first round loaded?"

"Yessir," Corporal Weibe responded as Buto placed the round in slid over it the gun's cover before locking the gun mounting, "Lock and loaded."

"Ok, rotate and target the first three automatons one-by-one, you should be able to see them from your scope." Matt called out calmly as Reug had already begun turning the tank for Ward to take down the smaller automatons. _I'm not that bad at this, actually, _Matt thought to himself.

Weibe placed his eye to the stadiametric sight of the large-caliber high-velocity 7.5 cm gun towards the first automaton which had begun to stumble to the left. His hand reflexively went to the turret control and spun the turret carefully before calling out to Buto, "Fire!"

Buto pulled the gun's lever and the gun blasted its round before recoiling back, the butt of the gun sliding out through an armored slit on the back of the turret, throwing the round out of the tank. The round flew true and rammed itself onto the armor of first mobile automaton and its dark armor shattered, throwing shards everywhere as the machine exploded into flames. The next mobile automaton was carefully approaching towards the right, its on-board computer smartly calculated that a flanking maneuver was in order but it was easily brought into a chaotic explosion by the tank gun as Wiebe expertly brought the gun upwards again and sent the third mobile automaton into oblivion. Private Ward opened the top of his gun and slid in another ammunition belt before taking out the last non-mobile automaton.

The final two mobile automatons quickly scurried to the front, blasting their engines out with their machine-guns as Ward provided scattering fire with his machine-gun, pivoting it carefully towards the mobile machines as Buto took another round in his arms and placed it into the tank's gun before sliding on the tank gun's cover and reaching for the trigger lever. Weibe aimed at the first one and roared a '_fire_' and Buto pulled the lever and send a round smashing into the machine's exterior, destroying it utterly as it broke down and fell onto the grass. Weibe then carefully aimed the gun again after Buto loaded in the round and sent yet another large piercing blank though missing it slightly, destroying its legs as the automaton smashed to the ground. The machine was still able to fire at the tracks of the tank though before Ward brought it down with his gun.

The men of the tank sat in the cramped space for a moment. Sweat went down Matt's forehead as he heard Sgt. Bryce call 'clear' and walked up to the tank's hull, tapping it lightly. Matt wiped the sweat off his head and unlocked the hatch of the tank and pushing it open before crawling out to meet the warrant lieutenant and breathe a breath of fresh air.

"How was that for a first experience?" the lieutenant asked, a cheery expression all over his face.

"Have you ever been a damned tank, sir?" Matt asked as he pushed himself out and felt the damp sweat patches across his uniform, "It's burning hot and tight in there."

His soldiers crawled out behind him and gave each other high-fives (a human expression) as Lt. Bryce pulled a hand on Matt's soldier and said, "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"Used to it?" Matt asked in a mixture of boiling rage and sheer irritation, "Used to it, sir? Did you have any idea when you assigned me to this damned human contraption?!"

The warrant lieutenant shook his head, "I don't like your tone with me, mister. And indeed I did, but it wasn't as though I had a choice." He paused as he lit a cigarette and handed Matt one. Matt took it in silence as Lt. Bryce lit it and they both took puffs from their respective nicotine rolls of tar.

"I did it out of trust, choosing you." The lieutenant said after he blew out puffs of smoke from his nostrils.

"Really?"

"F*** no!" the lieutenant cried and roared in laughter while Matt merely stood there, his expression awkward and the cigarette still burning slowly from in between his fingers.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1455 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Seventy meters from Aarhem**

"Seems you were right about not taking chances, sir," Barthol muttered as Sgt. Alan Graf took the point, leading his squad of soldiers through the thicket of the forests and their damned canals.

Alan muttered something that sounded like _hhn_ as he stepped over a root and twitched as his Asp-21 submachine-gun accidentally swung and hit a nearby tree. It was a tight situation, where they were at right now. As Major Talbot had predicted, along with the 518th and 520th PIRs, Alan's regiment had been selected to participate in a new operation, termed 'Backlash.' With Helic ground forces heavily demobilized and demoralized, and with air superiority given to Zenebas forces, the top Zenebas brass had decided to deploy paratrooper units towards designated DZs to secure two bridges leading to Aarhem, the closest outpost where help could be called for the Helic forces. The 8th Combat Engineering Division, specifically chosen to set up safety measures for the bridges once they were captured had been dropped with the 520th.

Alan felt his gut churn as he thought of the drop, over ten hours ago when a modified Storch, termed the 'Storch PDT', or Paratrooper Deployment Type had dropped his men and the other members of his 517th PIR across the woodlands of Bareshia. The staff sergeant felt no fear with heights, only with the damn PDT units. Those Zoids had modified fuselages in which the paratroopers would be deployed from. With a significant amount of weight taken off and the machine being highly unbalanced, the chances of deploying smoothly were low coupled with the fact that the chances of losing control in mid-flight and being brought down by enemy AAs were risen steeply.

_But if they're cheaper to make than the newer Reddras, then so be it…_Alan thought privately and bitterly in his mind.

The three (four if you count the 8th CED) had been informed of their rendezvous point, to rally in a pre-determined area that had been marked with orange smoke prior to their deployment. The smoke would apparently burn for forty-eight hours before dying, giving the different squads of paratroopers approximately two days to rally and troops that had already arrived were commanded to wait until at least two full regiments had arrived before waiting a single day more before leaving the third one behind and setting off to secure the two bridges. The sapper and engineering units of the 8th would then set counter-measure explosives on the bridge should the need of its destruction be necessary to prevent enemy capture. It would take the Helic forces months to construct bridges that wide and far over the _Wilhelm_ canal.

"Sir, in this damn sun, I can't even see the f*****' orange smoke," Alycon whined as the seven sweaty men searched for the rallying point.

"Nor can I, that's why I'm using this damn paracompass!" Alan snapped back, "Now, if you guys would be so kind as to shut the f*** up, maybe I can then figure out where the s*** in this hellhole are we!!"

"Sorry, sir," Barthol muttered under his breath as Private Besseus was fiddling with the field radio of his again.

"Sir," Bess announced, "I can't get a connection with the other squads of our regiment, sir! There's too much interference, I think it's from the networks further up in Aarhem, sir!"

"Just great," Alan said and swore, "Picture perfect. And we're the ones with the damned EMPs. Alright, let's all just take a break and let the sun bake us for awhile and I'll try to figure out how to get there."

Partially glad for the rest and yet irritated by the ever-gazing sun raining its rays of light down upon them, his men complied and plopped themselves uselessly on the dirt, their backs resting against the barks of trees. Alan himself crouched beside a bush, tediously steadied his paracompass on the leaf-littered soil as he waited for the needle to finally stay still. Cussing the whole way under his breath, he unraveled a torn and bent beyond belief map from his haversack and smoothened it with his fingers as he placed it on the dirt. Scanning with his fingers along the topographical layout of Bareshia Bay, he slowly hummed to himself.

"Ok….I circled our rallying point in red marker when-" Alan began.

"Its orange marker," McVay interrupted.

Alan silently fumed and resisted the urge to smack his man on the face. "In _orange_ marker. So…if this f****** compass works at all…" He angled the map so it faced where the compass pointed north to. He peered at the device for awhile before glancing back at the map and yelling a loud, "S***!"

"What is it, sir?" Darms asked as Alan whacked the dirt with his fist.

"Damn it, no wonder we've been lost for a good, long ten f*****' hours!" Alan raged, "We've overshot the rallying point by about a hundred damned meters!"

"What?" Hailay whispered in sheer confusion as he peered over his sergeant's soldier in an attempt to read the map and the compass, "Damn, the PDT pilot must have been high when he dropped us, plus the dawn wind probably picked us up and scattered us from the DZ."

His other men began to look over his shoulder as Alan took off his helmet and frustratingly ran his hand across his dirt-smeared hair.

"Whoa…we are a damned far distance from the point…" Bess whispered.

"Damn right we are," Barthol muttered.

"Hey, but look, we're only a few sixty meters or so from the first bridge along the _Wilhelm _canal, being quite close to Aarhem!" Alycon noted.

Alan glanced at Alycon's finger, which was tracing across the canal's path in the woodlands. It was true, what the private said, they were far closer to the first bridge than they were to the rallying point. _Should we head over to the rally and meet up with them? Or go over and try to secure the first bridge without any help? _Alan pondered wordlessly to himself, _what the hell am I thinking? We haven't even met up with any other squads and six men are supposed to take a bridge?! Even if we try to head there and wait it out, it won't be until perhaps days before help arrives._

"Then I say we should head over to the bridge and conquer the thing!" Darms announced.

"What if it's guarded?" Alycon suggested.

"You don't know that, maybe the Helics were too foolish to secure the bridge, considering their outpost is a distance away from the canal," Darms retaliated.

"But if it is, how the s*** are we going to secure it with only six men?" Alan said, "Plus, if we do secure it the 8th CED aren't there to set precautions and how are six people suppose to hold it off until days later when the cavalry arrives?"

"Well, if you don't mind me saying, sir," McVay reasoned, "I say we go there to _Wilhelm_. On foot, it'll take days just to get to the rallying point and by then they might have already set off. Waiting near the bridge if it's guarded is a better solution then heading all the way back to the point."

"He's got a point, no pun intended," Barthol added with a chuckle, "In my opinion, I'd prefer making the journey there. Maybe they've already set off and we can rendezvous with 'em there and sack the bridge."

"Hmm…I suppose that does, in a way, make sense," Alycon said hesitantly.

"Let's call a vote, sir, it's the best way," Darms diplomatically said.

Alan rubbed his head with his helmet as he stared down at the map. Technically, by defying orders, this was the most logical course of action. At least if they waited there, they would be able to support their own forces the moment they chose to attack. And if the bridge wasn't guarded, they would then be able to save time by securing the objective quickly or at least preparing defense precautions in case enemy recon somehow located them. An ambush would certainly be to their advantage. It was only the ground now that mattered, considering that the Aarhem outpost's AA abilities would likely bring down any aerial Zenebas units. If they went back to the rallying point the other divisions, and quite possibly the other squads of their division, could have already set off without them. They were strangers in a strange land here, soldiers behind enemy lines.

"Ok, call off the f****** vote, we'll head there." Alan announced, "Alright, I want to arrive there at the very least by night-time, get your damned rifles and asses up and ready to move out."

His men, though not particularly cheerful at having won their 'vote,' got to their feet and double-checked their rifles. Alan told them to set their safeties off since the chances of enemy in the surrounding area were slim, at least until they got there. The soldiers unzipped their smocks and unbuttoned the few top buttons of their shirt as the sun made sweat patches all around their bodies in places few could bear to even imagine.

"I wish we had damned deo with us now," Hailay complained.

"Ok, let's head off!" Alan announced again with the enthusiasm and conviction of an I-Speak-Your-Weight machine.

"What an uninspiring battle-cry, sir." Barthol muttered with a snort.

"You've got any brilliant morale-lifting suggestions, Bart?" Alan replied with a mock-snort.

"_Zede-Kï!!_" Bathol yelled as the sun shone above them, "Yeah!"

"Zair-day what?" Bess asked.

"Don't you know your Ancient Zoidian?" Barthol asked incredulously.

"It means _chop their lungs so they can't breathe_," McVay offered helpfully, "Roughly."

"Uh-huh." Alan replied, unimpressed.


	4. Chapter Four

**Author's Note:**

Whoo, finally after a hell lot of typing I got this done. I had left this fanfic several months ago before finally deciding to continue recently (thanks Bienvenido and Tilly for that, you have my regards ;D). I had to re-read every previous chapter though, just to understand where I was at, and made four different revisions before getting to this fanfic you see today.

Again, this was more of a 'build-up' chapter to the next, setting the setting kinda chapter. Just for your information, the geographical and historical background of the backstory are all based on the Zoids fanbooks. I do have an image that I found showing the location of the different places in the Battle Story, so if you're interested in that, let me know.

And to aid you with your reading, I've provided a miniature glossary to simplify some of the lengthy paragraphs and to help those who haven't read my previous fanfic:

**Central Continent (Delpoli):** Also known as Delpoli, the Central Continent is the home of the Helic Republic. In the First Central Continent War, the Republic owned the eastern side while the Zenebas Empire had control of the western side. After the war, the Republic had complete control of the continent.

**Nyx (Dark Continent):** Also known as the 'Dark Continent of Nyx,' Nyx was where Emperor Guylos was exiled before the First War.

**Daras Ocean:** The ocean separating the continent of Nyx from Delpoli.

**Bareshia:** The western peninsular of the Central Continent, previously Zenebas territory.

**Dallas Triangle:** The primary Republic base in Bareshia, recently taken over by the Zenebas Empire.

**Round's Mountain:** A mountain-base in Bareshia, previously a Republican base but recently collapsed after an explosion from a deochalcum bomb.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1520 hours**

**Aarhem, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Aarhem Helic Base**

General Frank R. Kades was in a foul mood. Tensions were rising high between the border-Bareshian bases such as Aarhem and the top brass of the Republican Army. Most of the border bases wanted to advance towards the peninsula and take back lost ground. With Zenebas jamming satellites and EMPs everywhere, the latest word the bases outside of Bareshia managed to receive was that Round's Mountain had been destroyed by a bomb powered by an unknown chemical mineral known as 'deochalcum,' or Dc. Chances are were that the invading Zenebas forces had already taken much of Bareshia and were pushing deeper into the Central Continent. The general cursed as he stared out his private room's windows. All had gone wrong so quickly.

In a matter of ten days, _ten _days, the shortest span for a successive invasion, the Empire had managed to conquer two bases. The Republic had assumed they were exiled, defeated, but rumor was that the Guylos, the forgotten empire of the 100s was aiding them. The Republic had led its guard down, delaying the investigation operation for a year and now it was too late. Hundreds of lives had been paid for the brass' foolishness. And that was just the beginning of General Kades' mood, what was worse was that the brass wanted the bases outside of Bareshia to maintain their position, making what the general viewed as another error.

Their reasoning was that the Zenebas might launch a cooperative invasion of the Central Continent through the Daras Ocean though General Kades highly doubted it, considering the amount of resources and recruits needed for what was now being known as the 'D-Day' invasion and how many were actually left to launch a successive invasion. To amount to that, there simply wouldn't be enough time to coordinate two attacks with supplies having to be transferred to two points, meaning that their supply source in Nyx would probably run out faster the more points needed to supply and the more fuel wasted on trips too, added another issue. But apparently the brass was too blind to logic, instead maintaining a paranoid and overtly-defensive mind frame.

The General swore in Ancient Zoidian one last time before swiveling his chair around to face his desk. It was neatly organized, the way he obsessively-compulsively wanted it, with papers and issues all stacked to the left and each ink brush placed in their proper cases. Yes, the general still did it the traditional way, using ink made from the sap of the _maddok _tree, native to Delpoli. And in the far corner of his desk was a photo frame, with a pretty young girl on it. General Kades reached for it, his rough fingers trying as hard as they might to delicately handle the photo frame. That pretty young girl was the last person he saw before he left on the train for the First Central Continent War.

The First War took place between ZAC 1980 to ZAC 2039. He had enlisted, just like every other man of every village on Delpoli had, and was about to depart on the train towards his basic training camp where he and the other new recruits had been greeted by swarms of people, cheering them on for their bravery and courage. At least ninety percent of these people were young girls, gathered there to watch the 'courageous' men of their respective villages head off to war. The continent was new to war back then, it was viewed for as something as a simple match of _sepak ball_. The girls would go after the soon to be soldiers with gift-wrapped chocolates, hugs, and kisses. And the young girl in the picture that the general now held had kissed him right before he left and he asked if he could take a picture of her, as a memory of sorts. She had agreed, and there it was, a picture that had been with him from his humble roots of a private to a general of a whole military base.

But times had changed since the First War, now was the beginning of what some people was beginning to call the 'Second Central Continent War.' Ten days ago, the First War was simply called the Central Continent War. It was funny how much can change in a short span of time. Years ago, Kades might have fallen for that young girl. But he had changed too, along with the face of war. He was bitter now, an angry man of resentment fueled by years of combat on the frontlines seeing his men killed, and now sitting behind a desk, seeing more of his men be killed.

_Perhaps it was better on the front-lines, _the general told himself wordlessly, completely contradicting what he thought when he was a mere private, _Perhaps it was._

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1620 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G1**

It felt like a nightmare. T/1 Felt Treus stared groggily at his amputated index finger, recently bandaged up with the yellow hue of the sulfur powder still clinging on it. His eyes went down to his forearm, where punctures from the morphine needles were still visible, and the caked blood clinging onto his body hair. His breathing was heavy and audible in his ears and the oxygen mask felt oddly heavy, pushing its weight down upon the technician's face. All around him, Felt could see men and women dressed in a pale white, huddling all around him as one woman, undoubtedly a nurse, gently removed Felt's mask and replaced it with another mask, a grey one with a tube. Placing it ever so tenderly on his lips, the nurse turned the device it was connected to on and immediately Felt could feel the water rush down his throat in quick bursts, giving him time in between to swallow.

The young technician looked up at the nurse, who was busy fiddling with the console of the machine. She pressed several buttons as the water continued to jet into his mouth. Felt relaxed and let his hand fall to his side as the water flowed past his lips and down his throat, soothing it and making his tense muscles let loose. The nurse than pulled a lever and an empty water canister slid out of the machine. With grit and determination, the nurse gripped the canister and drew it out of the machine before sliding in a canister full of grinded food. She flicked several switches again and this time, spurts of mixed chicken and romaine filled his mouth and Felt closed his eyes with content with a smile on his face. From a far corner of his eye, Felt could still make out the nurse smiling at him, glad that her patient was satisfied and her job was done.

_At least she likes my smile, my angelic smile…_Felt thought dreamily as his grip on consciousness slowly faded away, _Is it just me….or is it that most of the times people just somehow don't like my angelic smile? Perhaps they're jealous of it…but there was this one person, was it a he or she? I think this medication's making my head go off….but I'm pretty sure it was a he…..what his name again….M something….Mark? Matthew? Matthias?_

His eyes suddenly sprang open as the nurse next to him yelped in surprise. _Matthias!_

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1610 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Twenty-seven meters from the Le Braquette locks**

"Come on, Velos, hang in there!!!"

Corporal Matilda Wakas was frantically trying to stop the blood while her friend, Corporal Velos Bruce lay on the grassy earth, his intestines spilling out and blood spewing from every corner. Her clothing, gear, and hands were soaked in her friend's blood as she tried to stop the bleeding. She was a combat medic, as emphasized by the red cross painted on her helmet but no matter how many lives she had saved, she couldn't even save her own friend's right now.

"Oh Moons…n-no _dear Moons_, I'm g-g-going to d-die…." Velos whispered in a chilling voice, blood gurgling his throat, "I'm g-g-g-g-oing to-"

"No, you're not, Velos!" Matilda yelled in her friend's ear, "Shut up! You're not going to die! I'm not going to let you!!" she spat in Velos' face with a mixture of anger and grief, "You're not going to f****** die, you hear me?!! _YOU HEAR ME, _Velos?!!!"

"_H-H-Hhn-Hhrk-Hh-hh-h-haa-haaa…_" Velos attempted a laugh as blood spewed from his abdomen and his nostrils, choking him abruptly, "I….d-don't have to be a f****** d-doctor to k-k-now I'm gonna die, M-M…."

"Shut up, Velos!" Matilda replied as she reached for more bandages from her first aid kit, "You don't know s***, now shut up and let me get you to the infirm-"

'There's no point…" Velos replied with a nauseating, and poorly attempted chuckle, "I'm g-gonan d-die…and you k-know it too. Y-You were a g-goo-oo-d fr-iend, you k-know th

Matilda couldn't speak anymore, her voice was gone and her throat felt dry as she reached for the morphine needles, sticking two into Velos' thigh as his bloody fingers reached for her arm.

"I've al-lways wanted to tell y-you that…" Matilda gazed at her friend, grabbing her sleeves with a furiously concentrated intensity and she stopped fiddling with his wound. Releasing her bloodied palms, fresh streams of blood flowed out like a fountain. Her eyes remained dry, unable to cry and she wasn't able to speak at all, to return the favor and the will of a dying friend. At that moment, Matilda felt useless and stupid, weak…pathetic.

"Oh Moons…" Velos moaned again, spurting more bubbles of blood as his grip on Matilda's sleeves tightened, "It aches…my stomach…aches so bad…" He looked up towards his friend's miserable face, the medic who managed to get a degree and claimed to know everything in the field of medicine and yet unable to save her own friend now. "Please…Mat…you know what to d-do…."

Matilda merely nodded as she reached for her first aid kit one last time. Taking five syringes filled with morphine, she unscrewed their lids and without so little as a deep breath or a prayer, jabbed them into Velos' neck and watched him contort and twist in a violent spasm on her lap. Her hands convulsed as she let go of the needles, and her whole body shook, Velos' arms still gripping her sleeves tightly. Then after a moment, Velos was gone and his fingers slipped from her shirt, plopping to the side of the wet grass and making splashing sounds. Matilda looked down at her own friend she had just euthanized.

Velos didn't die peacefully, the way he wanted. He never wanted to join the Republican Army, but was sick of being called a p*** by everyone in the whole damn village. He wasn't a warrior, wasn't a fighter, he was an artist. He was talented in writing long chronicles, painting realistic portraits of what the Moons had to offer in nature and often sent poems back to his mother during his time at boot camp and when stationed for the D-Day assault. Matilda now wondered what she was going to tell his mother.

She looked down at her dead friend once more, unable to correlate that he had been alive moments before, and shut his eyes, sealing them one last time.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1640 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Sixty-three meters from Aarhem**

"We have to get there before nightfall, or at least by seven…minimum," Warrant Staff Sergeant Matthias Perry informed his men as he studied the topographical map on his tablet display, "Once we get there, I suspect that the Helic forces stationed along the Wilhelm canal will direct us to the base."

"Are there bridges on the canal that we can bring the Demon through, sir?" Pfc. Reug queried as he steered the M35-20 tank with uncanny ease, pushing the treads across the open field while the sun continued to burn in the horizon.

"Two, according to this map, which has been updated only two days ago," Matthias responded.

"If I may ask, sir," Corporal Weibe, the gunner, inquired, "Do you have a premonition that the Zenebas might launch an aerial assault against Aarhem before we do arrive there?"

"Well, it is pretty obvious that we're heading to Aarhem, considering it is the closest friendly outpost for miles." Ward said.

"And a major military base too," Reug added.

"I don't think they will, Weibe, er, I mean, Corporal," Matthias swore in his mind at his error, "Forgive me, I'm a bit new to this whole 'war thing.'"

"It's understandable, sir," Weibe assured, "It must be difficult to adjust the sense of always being lower than your superior."

"Yes…it does feel like that, like I keep forgetting I'm not a lower-ranking soldier…" Matthias mused as he toyed with the tape in his hands, "It's an interesting little thing, this tape…strange how something so bulky needs to be used when discs are freely available."

"They've been out of use for centuries back on Earth, actually…" Ward noted.

"Back to your er…premonition, sir," Weibe reminded.

"Ah, yes, I highly doubt a full-on aerial assault. Though I'm not sure of their headquarters' location, undoubtedly close to Dallas," Matthias said, "I believe that they won't risk such a huge campaign over a broad expanse of land that is Bareshia. Chances are supplies from Nyx will take a long and costly time, so they would probably hold their fort."

"Which gives us plenty of time to deliver that tape, eh, sir?" Reug finished.

"Yes, well, that is if the five other tanks don't arrive there first," Matthias mentioned. The five other tank squads of the 187th Tank Battalion had each been given a copy of the tape to deliver to General Frank R. Kades of Aarhem Base.

Silence came over the tank crew as the first signs of the sun dimming came. Pfc. Reug kept his eyes on the small optics mounted on the roof of the tank as he set the tank on 'cruise mode.' The machine-gunner, Private Ward, was busy checking his rounds of ammunition whilst the operator of the main gun, Corporal Weibe, was busy arranging the rounds of the tank's gun in order, the friction of the rounds and the tank's hull generating screeches. And next to Weibe was the silent Private Buto, who had remained silent for the past hour or so, keeping to himself and currently sleeping.

Matthias stared at the young soldier. He couldn't make out the private's age, who could tell with his face looking so precocious. Dirt smeared the cheeks of boy and his tank beret dangled from his messy hair. His nails were stuffed with dirt and uncut and the entirety of his smock was laced with dust. The messy black hair that was flung wildly from his head clustered around his forehead, covering his small Asian eyes. _How old is he? _Matthias wondered privately, _Eighteen, nineteen perhaps?_

The technician turned warrant sergeant glanced at his surroundings. The radio and the field phone had been bolted onto the sides of the tank. His seat was uncomfortable and not padded and the weary limbs of the tank creaked with each sprocket's motion. His posterior felt numb and sore with all the motion as he rubbed his eyes frantically to stay awake. _At least I'm not in a Zoid, _Matthias told himself, trying to be optimistic, _those things scare me…they're inhumane...then again, I'm probably more of a human by saying that…_

It was true however, humans, especially civilian ones, were disturbed by the Zoids in a manner similar to Matthias himself. Combinations of Wild Zoid DNA with weapons and devices of combat made each one of them a sentient and biomechanical beast. They made bizarre yet effective chimeras of war, and additionally were more quickly produced than using standard planet resources to create weapons. But still….something always disturbed Matthias about the Zoids, the way they reacted, the way they moved, the way they were able to seem so living and breathing and yet…in a flash, able to seem like nothing more than a machine that follows orders.

_I'm thinking of too much s***, _Matthias scolded himself in his mind; _I should be worried about Felt…but…_ He fiddled with the tape deck still in his hands, palpitating the device. Finally, unable to take the heavy strain upon him, the warrant sergeant got to his feet and opened the hatch located on the roof of the tank, letting in a breeze of cool air. Hoisting himself upon the hatch, Matthias unbuttoned a pocket from his dangling web gear and drew out a set of field binoculars, second-hand ones taken from a dead Helic soldier. Bringing it to his eyes, Matthias assessed the plain horizon, watching the sun begin to set as time went by.

This part of the continent hadn't been flooded yet; there was nothing but a wide expanse of wheat and grass, similar to a savannah but much greener. Towards the east and west there were several clusters of trees and further off were thick woodlands. But what Lt. Bryce had said was true…it _was_ perfect tank country. There were literally no obstructions or obstacles whatsoever other than a few fallen trees and the occasional thick bruncutious bush. The field around them was open, with little to no chance of an enemy going by unspotted, unless the enemy was an infantry soldier and maintained a prone position, something that would be hard to perform on the rocky and solid soil.

Matthias withdrew the field binoculars and slung it around his neck, using its leather strap. It was ridiculous, truly, the state of affairs that he had gone through in a matter of days. In fact, it had all begun with Lt. Bryce himself but Matthias knew it wasn't intentional, and that the ex-technician sergeant was merely following orders by sending him off to the 17th AD's makeshift base, nearly killing him and Felt, and suddenly after a mere day of recuperation, being kicked in to command a group of four other humans to pilot a human weapon unknown to him and be immediately sent off to a base to transfer a tape to the leader of the entire continent with basically the fate of the whole Helic Army on Bareshia on him and five other tank squads. Basically.

Moment by moment Matthias' resentment began to grow before a voice cried out, "Sarge! The comm's ringing!"

Immediately, Matthias' thoughts vanished and he pushed himself down the hatch before sealing the lid and twisting the twin bolts that locked it. Crouching down, he turned towards Private Hayate Buto, who handed the field phone towards him. Reaching it, Matthias grabbed it and placed it towards his ear, adjusting the malleable receiver closer to his lips.

"Sergeant, I mean _Warrant _Sergeant of the 187th Tank Battalion, Sixth Squad," Matthias reported.

Matthias patiently waited for several seconds for a response. The only thing he could hear were random crackles and fizzing noises resounding. An explosion rang out of nowhere in an instance and Matthias reflexively pulled the phone away. As his men looked on in puzzlement, he placed the phone back towards his ear again and repeated, "Warrant Sergeant of the 187th Tank Battalion, Sixth Squad, is there something wrong? Over."

Another explosion rang true before he heard shuffling….similar to the rustling of grass and a continuous windy rhythm that was eerily similar to the sound of flames. Heavy breathing came from the other end before a terrified voice, a young voice, spoke through the end.

"Help…..help……right now……" the young voice whispered weakly.

"Hello? HELLO?!" Matthias asked urgently, his voice a rising tempo, "Where are you?"

"Woods….help…."

"You need to be more specific…" Matthias urged, unsure of what to do in the situation, "You have to tell me where-"

"_HELP!!! _Oh Moons Almighty, please _help_…." The voice screamed in agony before breaking down into a sob, "Help….just help……f*** you, _bastard!!!_ Why aren't you helping! _F*** you, f*** you, f*** you!!!!_ Help!!! _AAAAAIEEEEEE!!!!"_

The sickening sound of flesh being ripped to shreds and another explosion hit Matt's ears like a sledgehammer but he remained in an immobile position, cold sweat pouring down his forehead as he gripped the phone with weak fingers. His lips shuddered and his throat felt weak, completely unable to speak. His forehead felt feverish and sore and he stumbled to fall back unto his seat. More sounds of slashing and tearing ripped through the earpiece and more screaming ensued. Matt could hear the young voice moaning before his voice was suddenly cut off sharply, before an abrupt and dead silence filled the line. It crackled once more, weakly, before dying out. Matt still remained stationary.

"Um…Sarge…?" Pfc Reug asked, "You…alright?"

"You look like you just…" Private Ward muttered as Matt still remained stationary before his arm fell limp and the field phone fell onto the floor of the tank with a soft thud. Private Buto reached to pick it up as Weibe gently grabbed Matt's arm.

"Sergeant…I know it's a little too much to take in all at once, being in a battlefield and all." Weibe began softly as Matt's face remained ever so still, "But sir, you have to understand that lives may be at stake here and you have to inform us, as our superior…judging from all that screaming."

"Y-You….you heard it too?" Matt managed weakly.

"Yes sir, it was quite loud," Weibe answered, "But what happened, sir?"

"So-" Matt began before he was cut off by Private Buto.

"You better tell us what happened all you might just get us f****** killed!"

"Shut up, Buto!" Weibe replied with venom.

"Can't you see it, Dom?" Buto asked with a sneer, "He's obviously not fit for combat. One scary phone-call and he's all shellshock. They're obviously from one of the tank squadrons; you recognize the sound of the tank's gun, right?"

"We can't help them, not if we don't know where they are!" Weibe yelled back.

"Oh yeah? There a_re_ Bastards here, Dom, and they got the other tanks…what makes you think they won't get us soon?!!" Buto roared back with more rage than an average person his age could manage, "With this so-called 'competent' leader, who's going to get us killed, we're all going to f****** die!!!"

"Who says they know of our position?" Reug budged in, "Those guys mentioned the woods, and we're miles from there!"

"You have no solid evidence, you're being paranoid…" Ward said in a hushed tone.

"I don't give a s*** about that!!!" Buto spat, "What I'm saying is that this _Zoidian _here is going to get us killed if-"

"Look." Matt suddenly whispered. Again, another deathly silence filled the tank as Reug turned around to monotonously drive the tank onwards, "There was someone there, calling for help. Chances are, they're dead. But I want to go and find them, at least we can take their dog tags for their families."

"Oh great, now this mighty Napoleon declares to make the mission priority number two and risk our lives to go into where the enemy _most likely _is just to find some s*****-ass dog tags?!!" Buto asked incredulously.

"Sir, I hate to break your flow of logic but what you're suggesting is-" Private Ward began to state.

"Suicidal?!" Buto offered.

"It's the least we can do." Reug said, ignoring Buto.

"Still…" Ward trailed off wistfully.

"I refuse." Buto simply confirmed, earning a look of hate from Weibe who offered, "I'll do whatever the sergeant suggests."

"I'm going to drive us towards the woods, whether you like it or not, Buto," Reug concluded, spinning the handle and rotating the tank towards the woods in the west, "We're going to help any survivors, find their dog tags, and then got our asses back to Aarhem."

"No, f*** no, I am not going there!" Buto cried out.

"Then get out." Weibe answered coldly as he went back to his gun position, "Get out of this tank like a p**** and run back to the village you came out of, you coward." Immediately Buto's face turned a pale, fearful white as Reug smirked. The driver kicked the throttle and immediately the tank's turbine engine roared, making the armored Demon speed forward. He immediately went to a kneeling position, the fanatical fire in his eyes fading.

Weibe looked at his fetal position once in scorn before walking over to Matt, who took off his tanker's helm and was running his fingers through his hair, wiping the sweat off his face using his smock.

"Don't take it to heart, Sarge," Weibe offered, "Hayate can be a little fearful at times, he's not exactly the bravest of men. He can get a little….out of his logic flow in straining times…"

"Similar to me……" Matt replied blandly. In his mind, he privately added, _Another similarity in me that mirrors a human's._ "I understand that."

"Glad you do, Sarge." Weibe said with a forced grin before returning to his position.

As the corporal walked away, Matt stared down at his helm. A simple objective, with no combat involved was becoming all the more dangerous with each passing moment. _Did I make the right choice….? Or am I just being a complete idiot? _It felt right, in his heart, what he was doing…but doing the right thing while sacrificing his own men, placing him and them in the line of danger….was it plausible?

The sergeant rubbed his tired eyes and asked himself a more important question, _And was the private right? Am I a competent sergeant?_

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1640 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**250 meters from Helic Base Camp G1**

Corporal Adameus Titan adjusted his pilot helmet slightly, shifting its microphone closer to his lips as he gave orders to his men. Keeping his grip steady on the controls, he veered his Cannory Molga over to the right, narrowly avoiding a poor offense by a group of outdated Godos units. Their particle beam cannons were doing little to affect Adameus' Molga, and with seasoned ease, he pulled the targeting visor over his helmet and adjusted the CP-07 shot cannon mounted on the Zoid until the on-screen crosshairs came into contact with the lumbering Helic Zoids. He whispered a silent Zoidian prayer before pulling the trigger and letting the cannon loose with a bang. The cannon recoiled and the old Molga crooned at the strain as the empty cartridge was hurled out of the cannon.

The shell spun in the air in a deadly arc before raining down on the Godos units, the resulting impact tearing their armor to bits and throwing their bodies meters away, whilst a glaring orange burst filled up the crater that now rocked the ground. Adameus' face remained expressionless at the destruction as he gazed around his panoramic cockpit. All around the marshy battlefield he could see guns blazing and magazines being reloaded. The Imperial Zoids were pushing forth, their marine Zoids such as the Brachios and Wardick suited to the task. The Helic forces, on the other hand, were struggling, their army made up of hastily-deployed recruits piloting decade old Zoids. _I'd give 'em credit for the effort though, _Adameus noted, _even with their air force down they're still not willing to surrender._

Adameus slid off the visor as his Molga continued to tread across the battlefield, with Zenebas foot soldiers sticking close to the Molga's fuselage, using it as cover from enemy fire and shrapnel. The corporal lightly tapped a button on a console as a topographical map popped up on the side of the heads-up display. Dallas Triangle was now being used as a beachhead and a rallying point for incoming Zenebas forces from Nyx whilst Devil's Foot was designated as the main branch of assault, with the Le Braquette locks broken and the Helic Air Force rendered useless, it seemed as though the Zenebas would gain a quick victory. _But we can't forget they might be on their way to Aarhem already though…_Adameus noted in dismay, _if they do get support from there, we're in for big trouble. Supplies would most likely come faster from Aarhem, as well as air support, then it would all the way from Nyx…_

Again, the corporal muttered a silent prayer, and prayed for the Moons for death and destruction to befall upon the soldiers on their way to Aarhem.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1658 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Seventy-two meters from Aarhem**

"What the f***??!!!" Sgt. Alan Graf roared in fury.

"What do you mean, what the f***?" the staff sergeant in a brown paratrooper smock similar to Alan's answered back as he examined the mixture of bent metal and roaring flames.

"You should have taken those as POWs!!" Alan answered back, pointing an accusing index towards over eight Helic soldiers with a dozen rounds each rammed into their bodies, "Instead, after blasting three of these tanks to hell, these people climb out for surrender and you murder them too?"

"What the f*** is a tank?" Darms asked softly to McVay.

"Hell if I know, probably some _human_ expression," McVay responded with a shrug.

"They're enemy soldiers, and in my book, we _kill _enemy soldiers." The staff sergeant responded gruffly as he instructed his men to search the burning wreckage for any valuable papers, rations, and medical supplies, "These peeps were going up to Aarhem, obviously," the sergeant replied, "I'd rather see them dead then lug them all the way to the place they were supposed to be going to."

Alan was stunned. It was sound, this sergeant's sense on the battlefield but still…it seemed somewhat…what was the word, inhumane. And what was even more shocking was the fact that the Helic forces might have deployed these _tanks_, human weapons Alan was familiar with, to head over to Aarhem for help. Chances are the forces in Aarhem are unaware of how dire the situation is down in the peninsula, no thanks to Zenebas jamming satellites and EMPs, and had been ordered by the top brass to maintain their position. Alan bitterly resigned and turned over to survey the two tanks. Republican logos were still partially visible in its flaring fuselage as the staff sergeant's seven men picked about, prying apart the smocks of the tankers for any items of use.

"I'm Sergeant Wilbur Acartosh, part of the 518th PIR," the staff sergeant introduced himself as, "My squad's DZ missed by several miles. I'm assuming the same happened to your squad."

"Affirmative," Alan replied drily, "And I suppose that you considered the route from your DZ to the Wilhelm canal was closer and so decided to head there and hold out until reinforcements came?"

"Affirmative," Acartosh replied with a satisfied smile, "If the Lics are sending people up there for help, chances are there are more of them around here too. We should locate them before heading over to the canal. We're not too far off anyways."

"Logical, I suppose." Alan said and then turned to his men, "Go help them, search for anything useful." Acartosh nodded in agreement and his men quickly responded, heading over to the charred tanks. Some of Acartosh's men began using their entrenching tools to dampen the fire with their soil while others used foam sealant, generally used to cover cracks in a Zoid canopy to kill the flames.

Neither staff sergeant spoke a word as they both watched their men scramble across the tanks, robbing from the dead. Alan felt another butterfly in his stomach. Something about it didn't seem quite right, grave-robbing. He placed a quick glance on Acartosh to his right. The sergeant's face was unreadable, completely calm, and as Alan judged, completely compressed of its inner emotions. Alan turned his eyes back to the tank as both their men scrambled back and wondered if a thousand battles would harden his heart in a similar way to the 518th's sergeant.

"Some useful stuff, morphine, sulfur, C-rations, the usual," Acartosh said as he knelt down towards the bundle of salvaged items and Alan followed suit, "Several maps here that might be useful, as well as a couple of dog tags."

"Should we take the tags?" Alan suggested.

"Leave them be, we have no use for them," Acartosh answered as he took one badly-folded map and smoothened it out, studying it intently, "No game plan here, they were simply sent from HQ straight towards Aarhem. And they judged quite accurately, we wouldn't have launched a full-scale aerial assault towards Aarhem, not when the third wave of shipments haven't arrived from Nyx."

The name sent a shudder down Alan's spine but he ignored it, "Hence the point of Backlash," He reached for another map, a papyrus one by the looks of it, and studied it with his paracompass. Acartosh leaned over his shoulder and stared at it too while their men looked on from a distance, their eyes intent for battle and a quick finish-up of a mission.

"The least we can do is to bury their dead..." Alan added in again when Acartosh gave him an eyeing look before asking, "Look, we're soldiers, not morticians. Now come on and read these damn maps."

"If you won't do it, me and my men will." Alan finished off before looking down at the mapa gain, "There are….six of them…" Alan mumbled.

"At least we got three," Acartosh said as he got to his feet, "Come on, we better search for the other half before heading over to the canal. Who knows how far they've gotten by now."

"But not after my men bury these bodies," Alan said as he got to his feet and took his entrenching tool off his web gear, "You and your men can wait in that corner while we search for their bodies." Acartosh stared on in bewilderment as he gave his orders and each of Alan's men began drawing their spades and bayonets to dig graves for the Helic soldiers. Alan removed his Asp-21 and dropped it to the side as he stuck his shovel into the moist dirt and heaved a mount of fresh earth into the air.

Acartosh sighed before reluctantly saying, "Alright men, get to work. We've got some Lics to bury first."


	5. Chapter Five

**Author's Note:**

Perhaps I'm taking this 'gritty-war' portrayal a bit too far, even more than my first fanfiction work. Recent and rather bloody encounters have made me wonder of upping the rating a little but anyways…

Like the previous chapter, I've added in some fillers just to give some background on how much is at stake and the ongoing larger war. It's just to show you, as the reader, how much is hanging in the balance between the two forces who are both in between rocks and hard places during the first few days of the D-Day's aftermath.

Reviews and feedback, both positive and negative, are highly encouraged too.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1723 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Seventy-two meters from Aarhem**

The squad's members were each at different points at the moment. Warrant Sergeant Matthias Perry, Corporal Dom Weibe, and Private First Class Alois Reug had decided to respond to the SOS signal, choosing to alter their course and drive another ten meters or so back into the woodlands, an area that was not suited for the M13-50 'War Demon' due to its enclosed surroundings and somewhere where they could be easily ambushed by enemy infantry. Private Naylor Ward was caught in the middle, unsure whether to do the ethically right thing and follow his superior, or side with Private Hayate Buto, who was at the moment slowly turning more and more paranoid as time progressed.

"We're wasting our time, we're going the opposite way, covering ground we've already been through and we're defying orders!!!" Hayate nearly screamed, "The whole Bareshian Republic branch's life is hanging on us and here we are driving to gather _dog tags??!!_"

"Shut the f*** up, Hayate," Reug snapped as he shifted the throttle one my time, driving the armored vehicle through the breaking in the trees while the tracks rolled over the roots, "I'm the damn driver here and I can steer this f*****' wheel wherever I want to unless Sarge says so, so shut up b****."

"Both of you," Matt said weakly, "Please, just calm down. This won't take long."

"Oh really, _Sergeant_?" Buto spat with a mocking cadence, "It's already five, _sir_. How the hell are we gonna get to Aarhem at this rate if we don't even know where the _hell _these bastards are, huh?!!"

"We're going to find them…" Matt replied, his voice cracking, "We'll find them quickly."

"But sir, it's rather hard to maneuver my machine-gun, and it's even more difficult to steer in such cramped terrain," Ward added in, before turning to Pfc. Reug, "Even if Alois doesn't want to admit it."

"Shut up, Naylor," Reug snapped again, "I've drove through tougher s*** than these woods." The private knew he was wrong though, the worst he'd even driven through was a roadblock. With the soil still soggy, the surface was unstable with the tank's weight constantly shifting, made worse by the cragged roots of the trees that tightly formed the woodland.

Naylor awkwardly adjusted his pince-nez glasses while Buto continued his rant, "I still think this is the stupidest idea, ever."

"Who asked you for _your _opinion?" Weibe budge in again.

Matt drowned in his own thoughts as his men began to turn on one another. He was a sergeant who couldn't even keep his own men in order. And tensions were rising higher with an invisible enemy, even Matt, who wanted to search for the SOS signal, was starting to feel afraid…too afraid for his own good, apparently. He pressed his shaking hands together, trying to prevent showing his fellow men that he was slowly breaking down, trying to set a good role model. _I'm horrible at this…_he silently told himself as the squabbling around him continued, _I'm gonna send us all to hell…….._

His thoughts were more conflicted than they had been since the start of the whole damn war. _If only Felt was here…he'd know what to do…_ Matt knew he had always been the more serious of the duo, the more rational and the more straightforward and logical. Felt, on the other hand, was the more rambunctious one, a man of dramatic flair and someone who could adapt quickly. Matt wondered if he was acting like Felt now, attempting to save, at the very least, the dead soldiers' dog tags. If Felt had been here, and had been the sergeant, he _would _have done that, simply out of the goodness of his heart. But Felt would have been able to handle the stress and conflict in this situation, something Matt could not follow through with.

The argument was raging on, reaching a burning climax before Matt rose to his feet and declared, "We're going back." In an instant, every piece of bickering stopped. His men all stared at him, wondering if he had lost it, before he repeated again, "We're going back."

Buto immediately slumped with relief onto the tank floor, wiping the gathering sweat on his forehead and letting out a deep breath. Weibe was still starting in shock while Ward's pince-nez glasses nearly fell off. Matt looked at all his men, some calming down while others still suffering from shock, staring at him as if trying to figure out if he was joking. Only Reug continued on his position, steadily guiding the steering wheel through the thick oak trees with skillful ease, the tracks still grinding on the dirt beneath, kicking up some grass.

"Reug, I said we're going back." Matt said, attempting to keep his voice strict.

Everyone turned to Reug, their gazes now set upon him as he continued to stare out the thin slit that served as the driver's optics, occasionally changing gears and pulling levers. And yet, when Matt cried out, he didn't seem to hear a word he said.

"Hey!" Buto quickly shouted, his voice still somewhat shaky, "The sergeant said to stop the f***** tank!"

Reug ignored him but quickly pulled the brake lever and the tank jerked to an abrupt stop. The engine was still running, its tremors still felt in the interior of the tank as the driver turned to face Matt. Private First Class Alois Reug had a look of dismay on his face. Again, the others looked even more shocked, and remained to do so until Reug explained to Matt, "I think I've found them."

'You…..found them?" Weibe trailed off.

Matt immediately got to his feet and crouched down to head over to the driver's section to peer through the slit. Reug immediately got up for Matt to do just that and as he stared through the optics, his jaw slowly fell. Now, even Buto's attention was caught as he slowly rose to his feet while Weibe walked over, his head still confused by the recent turn of events.

"What is it, sir?" Ward asked.

"See for yourself." Matt replied numbly as he walked back to his rightful place.

Ward leaned from his machine-gun position and stared through the optics. What he saw was a long stretch of woodlands but right at dead center was a massive column of smoke, arising from that position and into the air, an obvious sign that something was, or had been burning.

"I can't believe we missed that…" Ward said as he pulled away from the slit.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell's going on?" Buto asked, his confidence gaining as Weibe gave him another malevolent glance and walked over to the driver's slit to gaze through before saying, "Damn."

"Well, what is it?!" Buto demanded.

"Never mind, change of plans," Matt informed all of them as they immediately got to their stations, "Uh…combat positions, guys," the term felt awkward out of his mouth, he'd only heard _other_ people say it, "Reug, take it away."

"Yes sir," Reug replied solemnly as he pulled the acceleration gear and the tank began to advance further into the woods.

"Hey, can someone pleas-" Buto began before being interrupted by Weibe.

"No, now can you please just _SHUT THE-_" Weibe yelled when to his and Buto's surprise, Matt intervened.

"Buto, get loading." Matt said, coolly and calmly, "We're behind enemy lines, you guys better be prepared for a confrontation." He said the final word in a steely voice, his expression enhancing the word's effect on Private Buto who was beginning to panic again.

"Oh s***, I need my meds…" Buto whispered in a hushed and terror-stricken voice.

Matt ignored him and grabbed the in-built periscopes, placing them close to his eyes. The view ahead was clear, but the sun was beginning to dim, warning them of nightfall. Matt grimaced as he saw the column of smoke, though he noted that there was no fire. The trees bristled with the wind and as he saw the grey clouds, Matt had a sickening lurch in his gut, telling him that the probability of rain was going to be high. At this weather, anything could happen. Their tank's tracks could jam in the mud, they could be bogged down, but the sergeant knew he couldn't leave a SOS signal go uncalled for. He placed the periscope to its right position and sat back on his chair, awaiting the moment when they would come face to face with the enemy.

***

The War Demon screeched to a stop, the glacis plate creaking as the tracks stopped rotating. The weight of the tank made the swampy grass underneath it squelch as water flicked into the air and wet soil entered the gears. The clouds above were just drizzling, and Matt feared that they could possibly be stuck in the woodlands until the morning. Unsealing the commander's hatch from within the vehicle, Matt hoisted himself up, his lever-action rifle dangling from his shoulder. Both Reug and Ward were already crawling through the front hatch and whilst Weibe waited for Matt to exit the tank, Buto was pushing through the escape hatch at the rear. The puddle that Matt landed on soaked his combat boots with a splash as he removed his tanker's helmet, enjoying the sensation of loosening his oily and sweaty hair (which he had not washed in days) and allowing the rain to moisten it.

Looking ahead, he could see the trail of smoke being dampened by the rain. There had appeared to be no activity from within the tank, but Matt wasn't taking chances and signaled for all his men to turn off their safeties and prepare their rifles. The sergeant could smell the burning scent, similar to those overcooked shepherd's pie his mother used to make on every anniversary of her marriage with his now, dead father. Matt felt oddly sickened at the smell. With the tar-like smoke, it was hard to make out anything as they stealthily advanced, and Matt began to choke as they passed by weakening flames. As they threaded around loose shards of the tank's armor, to all their surprise, they found a graveyard.

Not a graveyard in a literal sense, but rather makeshift graves, twelve lever-action rifles identical to their stacked in a row. Their barrels were dug deep into the morass of the earth, each of their magazines removed and tanker helmets dangling from their butts. Each helmet had their respective owner's dog tags tied around them, and Matt could tell from the loose mound of dirt close to each of these 'makeshift graves' that they had been done recently. Looking up, he spotted three tanks, their bodies now barely recognizable, with their tops blown off and their sides covered in blackened soot. Matt walked over while his men gathered up the dog tags of their fallen brothers.

"At least they bothered to dig graves…" Ward muttered bitterly as the rain fogged his glasses.

"Or maybe this is some kind of warning." Buto countered with an even more resentful tone.

"Do you always have to be so pessimistic?" Reug butt in.

The tanks were charred to their core, and Matt could see why there were only twelve graves for fifteen men of the three War Demons. Men had been burnt alive within the shells that served as their armor, and Matt winced as he saw a blackened hand, its arms still crisp and burnt, the skin flaky dangling out of one Demon. He walked over and in a sudden flash, similar to that of a horror movie, saw another badly burned soldier, his body seemingly covered in a black and sickening goo made of blood and roasted skin. Matt's body lurched over as his knees hit the ground and he began to vomit violently, the excrement spewing from his mouth and nostrils. His men rushed to his aid and Buto glanced around at the dead body, only to turn around and anxiously stamp his boots on the ground.

"Ah….s***, th-th-his was exactly w-w-what I was ta-lking about…" he stammered in a worried voice, "Now we're dead meat for sure…"

Weibe grabbed Matt up from the arm and offered him a napkin. Matt gratefully took it and wiped his mouth, the nauseating smell of vomit still fresh on his lips. He threw away the napkin on the dirt and shakily limped over to the graves again, grabbing on a rifle butt for support while trying to catch his breath. Ward and Reug were taking the dog tags and placing them in spare pockets within their web gear as Buto still frantically walked in circles around the graves, his mind trying to decide whether he should stick with this maniacs or run the f*** away. The rain didn't feel that great anymore, instead making Matt feel cold as he coughed, his body contorting in a paroxysm and grabbed the rifle with fingers that felt like gelatin.

"You alright, sir? Do you want another napkin?" Weibe pressed as he patted Matt's back, "A little new to the battlefield, aren't you sir?"

"Y-Yes…" Matt managed, his throat still choking from the spit, "J-Just k-k-kinda new to this…as a technician…you don't really see th-his kinda s*** that much…" He turned to the corporal, his eyes weary and worn-out in a matter of hours, "What could have done this….? Three tanks! T-three tanks!!"

Weibe scowled at the question, "_Marderfaust_, sir. Not a particularly new innovation, I'm surprised, even if you're a technician that you've never encountered it."

"Marderfaust…" Matt said, feeling stronger as he stopped leaning on the rifle butt, "Never seen it in action but I've physically seen one before. A cheap alternative to a field gun, I recall."

"A smart trick to not let broken Marders go to waste, sir," Weibe explained, "The 'stalks' of the Marder, the dual laser sensors, could easily be re-wired to direct an explosive beam. Add a blast shield to it, a stand, some wheels to tow it around an iron sights and boom, you've got a WMD. It doesn't have great range, but the cannon sure packs a punch."

"Yeah…I recall it being a solid artillery piece, even some of our own soldiers would use it…" Matt said.

"If I may suggest sir," Weibe stated, "I think we should not delay this operation any further. Once we get to Aarhem over the _Wilhelm_ canal, we're home free. I would strongly go against a direct assault towards the Zenebas forces in this area, who knows how many are here?"

"How'd you think they got here?" Matt asked, "An attack on Aarhem when they had not even conquered half of the peninsula's area would be stupid."

"I think they were dropped by air, and quite possibly dropped here just to make the way for the other Zenebas forces and stop any of _our_ men coming through." Weibe reasoned.

Matt took that in and calculated his choices. Weibe was sound, it would be wiser to get to Aarhem and avoid this Zenebas force, a force whose size could not be predicted. But judging from the fact that all maps and supplies had been stolen, chances were that the Bastards were aware of the size of _their _force, a dangerous situation of psychological warfare. At least if they got to Aarhem, they might be able to receive the necessary support to counter this hidden Zenebas force. Not to mention that the woods were a dangerous place for a tank to be in, with its tight spaces and all.

"Alright men," Matt declared, trying to make his voice sound as commanding as it could be, "We're heading to Aarhem, not shortcuts or detours this time. We're going straight to Aarhem."

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1735 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G1**

_The object of war is not to die for your own country, but to make the other bastard die for his, _Corporal Thomas Caddeus reminded himself as he pulled the trigger for his anti-air chain gun, unleashing a raining hell of bullets to the skies above. The AA gun was mounted on an unmanned Cannon Tortoise that served as a gunning platform and in turn, the Tortoise laid rested upon a double-story house that was modified for this specific purpose. The corners of its roof were stacked with sandbags and canvas sheets while down below, its doors and windows had been closed shuts, sealed with bricks and mortar. This had been done for every building within the village of Shel-Dakai, now formally known as 'Helic Base Camp G1.'

G1 at the moment was suffering from a severe offensive from invading Zenebas forces. The Bastards had complete air superiority at the moment and it was up to men like him to fire powerful .50 rounds in the air, the ammunition belts of the gun rearing at the power as hundreds of cartridges spilled from the underside of the gun. Another fellow soldier and friend, Corporal Bretta White was rotating the gun for him, allowing him full access to bring down enemy Reddras and Saicurtis units. At the edge of the flak nest was their superior, Sergeant Esther Houtson giving orders on where to direct the gun, the binoculars dangling from her neck in a violent fashion as she ran from cover to cover.

"Twelve o' clock, low!" Sergeant Houtson screamed at the top of her lungs.

Caddeus and White immediately responded, with White pulling the lever to shift the angle of the AA gun and Caddeus placed the iron sights dead center on the diving Reddra, who was firing its modified LMGs that were placed on its back. The bullets bounced back from the blast shield of the Tortoise's AA gun as Caddeus squeezed the trigger, spraying rapid-fire slugs into the Reddra, who immediately lost its balance, swinging to a violent arc before crash landing on the street below. Caddeus wiped the sweat off his brow with a sneer.

"May God have mercy on my enemies, for I sure as hell won't," he shouted arrogantly as White rolled her eyes.

"Shut up, Thom," she reminded him, "You couldn't have done it without me."

Caddeus was about to respond with a comeback before Sergeant Houtson hollered until she began wheezing, screaming, "Three o'clock, your flank! Your f*****' flank!!!"

Caddeus turned to his right in response, while White attempted to steer the AA gun to face the side. Another Reddra, this one painted in a drag gray hue had a M19 SAW that was firing with pinpoint accuracy to their exposed defilade. The automatic weapon was firing .21 inch rounds, the ammunition belts wildly flailing in the air as the bullets slammed onto the AA gun, immediately killing White and spraying blood all over the weapon. Caddeus looked in sheer horror as his weak muscles attempted to make him jump down from the Tortoise unit. The Reddra's pilot took no chances and pressed the trigger lightly again, letting nine or so shells smash into Caddeus, instantly cracking his bones and throwing him back with a concussive force.

Sergeant Houtson immediately lost her voice and dropped the field binoculars she was holding, stumbling over towards the cockpit of the abandoned Cannon Tortoise. Again, the Reddra was prepared and swooped in for the kill, activating its turbine-powered Strike Claws. The searing hot melee weapons smashed into the flak nest, throwing stone and dust in the air as the sergeant struggled to reach the Tortoise. She leaped over one of the legs of the incoming Reddra and grabbed the ladder that dangled from the side of the Cannon Tortoise's cockpit. Reaching up, she immediately pressed a switch and the canopy opened with a hiss. The Reddra was already flying up, preparing itself for a returning arc by the time Houtson turned the Zoid on and began directing its coaxial double-barreled automatic guns.

Just as Houtson was about to pull the trigger, the Reddra's SAW came to life, spilling heavy-duty rounds onto the Tortoise's fuselage. Inside, Houtson rocked against the sides of the cockpit in a futile attempt to align the in-built electronic sights to the Reddra. The Reddra came to a dangerously close distance before Houtson received a lock-on and pressed the trigger, the automatic rounds bouncing off the armor of the Reddra. In a second the Reddra was on the Tortoise, its Strike Claws making dents in the orange luminous canopy. Blood dripped from Houtson's forehead from the impact of the enemy's machine-gun and she felt her mind slip its grasp on reality, the blood feeling warm as it clung on her neck.

"I hope you have a better next life," Corporal Swiss Hancock whispered to the unknown pilot within the Tortoise as he directed the beam gun mounted on his underbelly towards the canopy of the Tortoise at point-blank range, "And I hope I do too…" he added, his voice much more silent.

The gun fired and an explosion ensued, the shards of the Tortoise's canopy bursting and its neck dislocating from its body. Inside, Sergeant Houtson shrieked as the fires took her alive and she slowly burned to death. The last sounds that touched her ears were the ringing of gunfire and the flickering of the flames.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1750 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Sixty-six meters from Aarhem**

"Sometimes I think war is God's way of teaching us geography," Sergeant Alan commented sarcastically as he attempted to understand the complex map that some meticulous cartographer had decided to make incredibly long-winded, "What the hell are all these little red spots?!"

Sergeant Acartosh rolled his eyes and spun the map towards himself, "You have to read the damn legend, these red spots symbolize the…" His fingers cross-referenced to the legend before saying, "Minor streams leading up to the _Wilhelm _canal."

"So do we just follow one of these streams, sir?" Darms questioned.

"Guess so," Acartosh responded towards the gathering of soldiers, fourteen men crowded around a single map that was slowly being soaked with the falling rain, "The closest one to our position is this stream identified here. At least this way we can just follow through the waters and won't have to check the map every twenty seconds."

Alan slipped his paracompass back into his breast pocket, "I'll be happy for that alone. But we had better get there before the heavy rain comes, we can set up a trench outpost in the morning and wait for the rest of our divisions."

"Yeah, I wished I was one of those guys who got to stay behind." Acartosh mentioned.

"As do I," Alan replied. Not all ten-thousand men of his division had to participate; only about two platoons or so from each division were in the actual mission. That meant a total of about one-hundred and twenty paratroopers alone in the Aarhem area.

Acartosh nodded in response and got up, folding the map and slipping it into the baggy thigh pockets of his _fallschirmjäger _uniform. Unslinging the Strg-MN assault rifle from his hip, more commonly referred by soldiers as the 'Strongman' rifle, he gripped its handle firmly before switching the safety to fire mode. Alan followed suit, drawing his Asp-21 submachine-gun and turning off the safety. All fourteen soldiers did the same too with their respective firearms while the two sergeants of the two squadrons discussed formations.

"Wedge, I think it's the most appropriate, we have enough men." Acartosh suggested.

"Agreed, we'll cooperatively take point, though," Alan agreed.

The men were still munching on their newly-found, or rather newly-stolen rations, packets of pasta and beef and were reluctant to get up. It took a full minute just to get them into a wedge position and once that was done, the team of fourteen set off, led by Alan and Acartosh in the lead of the wedge.

"Once we've located the stream, I bet the rest of our divisions are probably gonna be there already," Alan said, "We were just the unlucky ones, with our damn PDT drivers."

"Exactly!" Acartosh said in harmony, "I swear to the Moons our PDT pilot was intoxicated when he took the thing up! It was shaking so f****** hard that I thought I was going to die! Moons, where does the army _get_ these people?!"

Alan chuckled, "He's probably one of the _ostruppen_ we took from Nyx's villages."

Acartosh shuddered, "Don't talk about that damn place, man. I'd like to forget about the Dark Continent."

Alan briefly recalled his time in the Dark Continent of Nyx, right when the whole army had fled. Nyx was the most horrifying place one could ever encounter. Its earth was made up of a sickly black material, putrid gases hung in the area, there were constant coriolis storms and heavy acid rain pouring from the skies, and no living thing could survive there for long, with the countless reserves of deochalcum everywhere. It was hard, for the Zenebas Empire, at least until they struck a deal with the Guylos forces, who were already adjusting to the continent and building their own Zoids. Alan still recalled the so-called '_golden rule of thumb_' in Nyx, and that was to 'never forget to wear your anti-deochalcum gas mask.'

Alan's thoughts were interrupted by Acartosh, who urgently called out to all their men, "Everyone, go prone! Enemy armor spotted!!" Alan immediately hit the dirt, as did all of them, their woodland camouflage blending in with the grass. Keeping his shoulder carefully leveled on the ground, Alan pointed the Asp-21 towards the incoming tank. Acartosh did the same with his Strongman assault rifle, his eye close to the weapon's iron sights.

"Ok….when I give the signal…" Alan said, straining to keep his voice low.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1753 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Thirty-six meters above ground**

_Bloody stupid Lic, _Flight Lieutenant Nathan Borsch thought as he swerved the stick to the right, directing his Saicurtis that way. The pilot of the Helic Pteras was skillful, he'd give him that, but undeniably irritating too. _Why can't I just get a lock-on on this a**hole, one more kill and I'm a certified ace!_

The Saicurtis sped towards the right, directing its beam guns with a relentless fury as the Pteras continued to evade it. Borsch pressed the trigger lightly, directing the beams for short bursts that flew around the enemy Pteras. It was already hard enough for the Saicurtis to keep up with the Pteras, considering the major speed difference, but was made even harder, at least for Borsch, when the Pteras kept swooping in different directions every five seconds. Suddenly, towards his right, Borsch could make out his wingman, Lt. Begs Stabbard and his Saicurtis, speeding up for the kill.

"Hell no you ain't getting this one!" Borsch yelled over the mike with a laugh as he open-fired on the now outnumbered Pteras.

"I need one more to be an ace, buzz off!" Stabbard replied jokingly as he struggled to keep his sights on the Pteras.

"So do I!" Borsch declared, and kicked the thrusters of his Saicrutis up, throwing the Zoid forward with so many g's that Borsch's body lurched back in surprise.

The Pteras descended over a canal, the water spraying underneath its flight as Borsch and Stabbard tailed it, their Saicurtis units small enough to weave around the thick trees of the woodlands. The Pteras struggled to rise again, no doubt from taking such a quick descent to the ground before managing to completely pull up, performing a stunningly mastered arc that placed the Pteras now at the rear of Borsch and Stabbard's units. Borsch looked in the rear-view camera in utter shock before screaming out loud,

"Begs! He's at the back!" he yelled, "He's at your f*****' back!!!"

Stabbard had barely enough time to turn back briefly before the Pteras received a lock-on and the pilot activated his dual AAM launchers, unleashing missiles that catapulted themselves onto the Saicurtis' back, which immediately exploded, the explosion throwing Stabbard and his Zoid with a sharp jerk. Smoke and fire began to envelope the Saicurtis as the Pteras' pilot now set his…or her sights upon Borsch.

"Dammit, Stabbard, pull the ejection lever!!!" Borsch yelled as he swerved the Saicurtis, attempting to dodge the Pteras' 16mm Vulcan guns, "Begs! Begs!!"

"F***, man…" Stabbard managed as his Saicurtis began to lose control, "I broke my f****** hand…I broke my _HAND, MAN!!_"

"Use your other hand! Your other one!" Borsch screamed as rounds grazed the underside of his Saicurtis, making it do double-flips while Borsch struggled to stay conscious.

"C-Can't move it man…" Stabbard said, his voice cracking, "Oh Moons…" The Saicurtis completely lost control and smashed itself and Stabbard into the woodlands, the flames of the explosion igniting several trees as the trail of smoke lingered in the air.

"S***, Begs…" Borsch said, his voice feeling defeated, before he brought the Saicurtis upward, performing an arc that would land him facing the rear of the Pteras, "Dammit!!!!" Borsch spat out blood at the force of the arc, the cockpit seemingly rotating around him as the blood rushed to his head. Not giving a hell whether the crosshairs locked on or not, he pulled the trigger, ripping the beam guns and cannons towards the Pteras with grit and determination. The energy rounds pummeled onto the wings of the Pteras, disrupting the Magnesser Wing technology that allowed the Zoid to stay adrift.

The Pteras began to descend, preparing to crash-land but Borsch still kept his eyes trained on the Pteras, his beam guns never stopping to rest. Ignoring the tachometer, speedometer, and the beam guns' overheat display, Borsch tagged behind the Pteras, intent on making the pilot pay for his sins. More collisions occurred between the beam rounds and the Pteras, who was still struggling to fly. The percussion of bullets from Borsch didn't stop, even when the ammo counter was dangerously low. Borsch didn't care. He didn't care if he died. He didn't care about being an ace. Right at that moment, all Borsch wanted to see was that man…or woman, within the Pteras incinerate and wither to ashes.

By the time Borsch realized that his dive was too strong and he had no time to swerve upwards in another arc it was too late. The Pteras slammed headfirst onto the grass, a burning combustion ensuing before Borsch's Saicurtis slammed into it, both of them set ablaze by a second, horrifying fulmination.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1805 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G1**

The siege of the camp of G1 had been going on for three hours, and yet there was no successive winner. The village of Shel-Dakai was now in ruins, entire street blocks leveled and rows of buildings shattered under the weight of bullet and beam-fire. Heavy bombs and missiles were dropped from the air, JDAMing the village to hell and back. Stacks of dead soldiers, both Helic and Zenebas littered the streets, their bodies littered with holes. Though heavy, raging combat was occurring, the Republican side was just playing for time, for the more crucial staff to evacuate along the _Ruädich _canal and seek help from the base camp G4, more than seventy meters from their current location.

A doctor and another nurse escorted Felt Treus out of the infirmary, who stumbled with each step. His body felt weak and sweat poured from his forehead, cold sweat. He already had three punctures of his lung and two broken bones and it was excruciating just to take a few steps. He coughed each step of the way while gunfire rained over them and the thirty or so other patients who were evacuating into the Pteras units awaiting them. The interiors of these units had been swapped with cushioned benches for the patients. Felt was guided up the lowered stairs, his bare-feet feeling cold against the metal. His vision was groggy, and the only sounds he could make out was the endless stream of gunfire.

"M-Matt…" he mumbled to no one in particular.

"What?!" his doctor asked over the battle, "Sorry???"

"Matt…" Felt whispered, his mind still slowly wearing off from the anesthesia

"He's just a little drowsy, sir," the nurse explained as they settled onto the cushioned benches, the nurse still clinging on to his IV.

More patients with their guiding doctors and other medical staff rushed into the Pteras as the battle continued to threaten to destroy the entire village. Machine-guns were creating rattling sounds in the air, smoke churning everywhere from the destroyed buildings and an entire street was painted red with the blood of men and women. In the far distance, Felt could still make out the string of medical staff and patients struggling to reach their Pteras units when a Reddra flew down from the air, rattling its machine-guns against the ground, rounds twice the size of a human head smashing into each of the doctors and patients, spraying blood onto the ground. More Saicurtis units circled around the infirmary, unloading magazines of ammunition on the buildings, bursting dust into the air.

Felt's doctor sped to the field phone inside the Pteras that was connected to the cockpit and screamed, "Get us the f*** out of here!!"

The pilot happily agreed and pulled a lever as the Magnesser Wing anti-gravity technology was activated, slowly making the Pteras rise. The pilot shifted several controls, taxing the Pteras several meters before turning on the external thrusters and lifting the Zoid towards the air. The patients and staff inside rocked and shuddered as the Zoid attempted to avoid circling around enemy Zoids, whose machine-guns were roaring and spilling death everywhere.

"S-S***, that was too close…" the doctor said as he released a breath and wiped his forehead.

Meanwhile though, Felt's thoughts were too busy occupied with someone else. _Matt…was he in the infirmary…when that happened?!_

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1806 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Sixty-five meters from Aarhem**

There were several men prone on the grass, Matt could tell, as he assessed the battlefield through his periscope. And in their rear, backing them was the monstrous Marderfaust anti-armor cannon. Matt shivered, the image of the roasting man inside the Demon still fresh in his head. It was hard to see, especially in the damn rain, but Matt was sure they were infantry soldiers. He raised the periscope back to its rightful position and began giving out what he thought would be the best advance to deal with the current situation.

"Weibe, Buto, get ready, when I give my mark, I want you to immediately shoot their position!" Matt ordered, "Reug, I want you to maneuver the tank towards their right flank, be careful about it…no doubt they've seen our position."

"If any of them starts up that Marderfaust, Weibe," Matt added, "You blow them to hell."

"Roger that," Weibe replied with a smirk while Buto shakily slipped a new cartridge into the tank's main gun.

Ward slipped a fresh belt into the machine-gun he manned and swapped the barrel. Drawing the iron sights of the weapon towards his eyes, he steadied the machine-gun towards the infantry position, his eye trained particularly on the Marderfaust. Reug pulled a lever and pressed a pedal, making the tank's side completely exposed to the enemy, but cautiously steering the War Demon to the cover of fallen trees, the leaves shaking with each wheel. Just as Matt predicted, in an instant, the soldiers were rushing to the Marderfaust!

"Left flank!" Weibe yelled as Buto spun the tank's turret to the enemy infantry, part of the tank's fuselage still blocked by a tree log. Weibe responded quickly, aligning the tank's rangefinder sight to the Marderfaust and he pulled the lever. The gun recoiled back with a powerful force, the empty canister dropping into Buto's hands as the shell spun in the air before ramming dead center on the Marderfaust, creating an epic explosion of flames and dirt.

"Whoa…no s***, man…." Reug whispered as he saw the whole spectacle from his driver's optics.

Ward wasted no time however, gunning the surviving and badly burnt soldiers with no mercy, using short bursts of his rattling machine-gun to mow down the enemy. In the rain and with his poor eyesight, the private missed some soldiers, who managed to leap away into the safety of the woods.

"That was too f****** close, no s***." Reug said again, his voice still awe-struck as smoke and flames billowed in the air from the massive crater of the artillery shell.

"Buto and Weibe, you're coming with me." Matt ordered. "Reug and Ward, stay and man the tank." Buto reluctantly agreed, slinging his rifle over his shoulder while Weibe waited for Matt to fully exit the tank.

The rain was still falling from the skies above when Matt got out, and the rain made his smock even heavier to drag along. Switching the rifle to fire mode and directing the barrel forwards, Matt waited patiently for his two men to get out before proceeding towards the dead enemy infantry, his heart pounding with each step. Weibe quickly sprinted up to Matt and placed a hand on his shoulder, asking,

"You sure you up for this?" Weibe asked, his tone somewhat concerned.

"Y-Yeah…pretty sure," Matt replied shakily, "I think I can handle it."

Matt surveyed the destruction they had caused, gingerly treading over the dead and burnt bodies, their clothing still visible. He felt the sensation of an oncoming barrage of vomit coming from his churning gut but ignored it, instead moving on towards the mangled Marderfaust, its blast shield having fallen off and most of its rear destroyed in the explosion. Their powerful Demon's gun had left a massive crater, blackening the earth and killing flora everywhere. Matt was walking around the Marderfaust when he stepped on something soft.

"Oh s***!" Matt yelled and Buto immediately cowered back in surprise.

Weibe quickly walked over and glanced down. Another burnt and mutilated corpse of the enemy, his hands still grabbing the Marderfaust's lever. If Weibe had not shot him at that moment, they might have been dead right now. He knelt down and examined the corpse, unable to determine its gender before pulling out a map that stuck from her charred pants. The map had survived the explosion, and Matt, upon staring at it instantly determined the size of the enemy's force.

"Three divisions, Weibe…" Matt said, his voice weak with fear, "Ten thousand troops such as this guy."

Weibe looked at the map, and nodded in grim agreement. He then bent down, trying to see what else he could salvage, and found dog tags. On them were the words 'TALBOT, PATRICIA.'


	6. Chapter Six

**Author's Note:**

So, after a rather long pause in between this chapter and the previous one, I've continued after several false starts. Frankly speaking I thought this chapter was poorly written, it was sort of composed from a jumble of ideas though I plan to end this story by the eighth chapter. Hopefully, at least. I'm thinking of upping the rating to M, but we'll just see how it goes for now.

Reviews, compliments, and criticisms all welcomed.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1751 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Sixty-six meters from Aarhem**

"….everybody start rolling to the right." Alan finished his sentence.

"The f***?" Acartosh hissed, "Why the hell are we gonna start rolling?"

"To the right, douchebag," Alan spat back as the tank lumbered overhead, "There's a pond morass kinda thing there, we'll be able to stay under cover. I don't think that tank can see us from that angle."

"That what?" Acartosh asked.

"Tank, it's an Earth armored vehicle." Alan replied, "No idea why Lics are using it though, probably a recon of some sort."

"Hell sir," Barthol whispered, "I thought it was another stupid Battlerover thingy that the Lics had."

"Please, the Battlerover's got nothing on this 'tank,'" Alycon countered, "Look at the size of that cannon on it."

"Everyone, shut it!" Alan spat, struggling to speak in a lower register, "On my signal. Now!"

With a flick of his finger the men of the two PIRs began to roll themselves in the mud, resembling dogs in a playground as they flicked blades of grass and dirt into the air. Alan grit his teeth as the wet soil and water rubbed themselves all over his attire while his legs fondled in the air, pushing himself down the slope as his Asp-21 submachine-gun slung across his bicep, flinging itself along the way. Acartosh held on to his rifle as well, smartly tucking his elbows together whilst some of the other soldiers muffled laughs as they practiced this rather unorthodox tactic.

Splashes and fountains of murky brown water began to jettison from the pond as the soldiers fell into it, making huge ripples on the meniscus. Alan broke the surface of the water and closed his eyes, grimacing at the thought of what disgusting little creepy-crawlies lurked in the dirty pond. Gripping the side of the pond for some support, he pushed himself upwards, splashing through the surface as algae and water poured out from his face.

Several soldiers found it somewhat amusing, and began laughing at the sight of each other, uniforms and web gear covered in vegetation and contaminated water. Alan kept his characteristic straight face as Acartosh howled in laughter.

"Damn, Graf!" the sergeant yelled, "I haven't had that much fun in ages! S***, man, that was hilariously fun."

"Glad you liked it," Alan replied grumpily as he took off his helmet and poured the access water back where it belonged, "Now stay quiet and put, the reeds here will hide us and we've got to stay submerged when the tank comes down the slope or else we're all screwed."

"What, we're just gonna hide?" Private Bess asked.

"That's 'what we're just gonna hide, sir,' to you, private," Acartosh pointed out before Alan cut in,

"You've got a better idea, Yutmich?" he asked sarcastically, "We better just avoid a confrontation then risk losing more men. Alright, everyone."

"Oi!" Acartosh yelled, "Attention!!"

Immediately a silence fell across the little pool playpen as the soldiers resumed their duties, ready to serve their country.

"Ok, thanks Acartosh," Alan said as each soldier turned their attention to him, each one too covered in chest-length water, "At ease. Now, how many of you here can't hold your breath underwater for long?"

"For long as in…." one of Acartosh's men asked.

"Say…thirty to forty seconds." Alan said off the top of his head.

A dozen or so hands raised themselves up, some almost reflexively.

Alan threw both his hands in the air, "Alright, we're screwed."

Acartosh turned around, observing the little 'pool of sorts' they were in before he plucked several reeds, and handed them to Alan, "What about these? Tarklec roots, their insides are hollow for insects to travel inside and pollinate them."

Alan smacked Acartosh in the back, "Genius, man! Yeah, we could use these light those ninjas."

"Ninjas?" one soldier in the back asked with a hushed voice.

McVay rolled his eyes and hissed back, "Probably a human thing."

"Yeah yeah, ninja s***, whatever the hell that means," Acartosh absent-mindedly said as he reached for more reeds, "Ok, I want everybody to start plucking these. Make sure they're the hollow ones, not the ones filled with writhing, infested maggots. Once the tank comes too close for comfort, we all submerge and put these in our mouths, sort of like improvised scuba diving gear."

The paratroopers complied and many of them started readying multiple 'breathing tubes.' Some were not so fortunate, and instead plucked out swarms of worms that crept into every crevice in their uniforms and made several soldiers cry out and scratch each other in panic.

"Dear Moons," Acartosh roared, "You trying to draw attention or wh- oh great, now look! You're infesting the whole pool with worths, you stupid son of a-"

"Everybody get down!" Darms interrupted, his voice quivering with panic and yet attempting to maintain a commanding tone, "The thing's coming towards us, it's closing in right now.

"For something so heavily armored, it sure moves fast as hell…" another one of Acartosh's men commented as he plucked more reeds.

"Alright men," Alan spoke, trying to rally his and Acartosh's troops, "I want everybody to go underwater right now!" Even if he hated the very thought of it, he stuffed three hollow stalks into his mouth before heaving his whole body into the swamp-like pool, closing his eyes and holding his submachine-gun tightly as he did so.

Several other soldiers grumbled about their rifles getting jammed and about the maggot bodies floating around in the pool but all of them submerged themselves as the tank roared closer. Even under the water, Alan could still hear the tank's powerful engine working its magic, chugging and pumping as the tank's threads crushed everything in its way. He could make out vegetation crackling apart as its weight crushed them and the twists of a squeaky suspension as it began crossing down its slope. Then, after a short pause, Alan heard a dull thud as the tracks lost its grip on the slope.

_F***_.

***

The War Demon hit a broken tree trunk, the force of the impact smashing apart its glacis plate as the sprockets began to whirr in resistance. The sudden obstacle began to topple the tank and its crew inside began screaming in fear as the tank began to tumble on itself, descending with a rolling fury down towards the pond. Splinters of grass fanned out everywhere as the wide chassis of the Demon broke through the earth, throwing everything out of its way. In mere seconds it had lost total grip and continued tumbling onwards…onwards toward the pond where several Zenebas soldiers lay in wait.

***

"F***!" Alan spat as he broke through the surface of the pond, underwater flora dangling from his uniform. Turning around swiftly, he saw his prediction fulfilled as the looming shadow of the Demon came closer and closer, "Everybody out!! Repeat, everybody out!!!"

The lucky soldiers heard the order through the water and began spitting out their reeds and heaving themselves out of the water. Splashes and ripples were heard as water poured and flowed out of the pond. Many of them scrambled in fear as they reached for their rifles and a few even caught a glimpse, a minor sight of the tank as it rapidly rolled downwards in all its glory. The not-so-lucky ones were crushed by the tank's massive weight and trapped underneath it as it smashed into the pond, throwing reeds and water into the air in a massive spurt. Alan could only watch in horror as the fuel tank on its belly began spurting out oil and a fire slowly began to form around it.

"Everybody down!!" Alan shrieked, "Down!!!"

The soldiers did as they were told, going prone as their belly hit the earth right as the tank exploded. A massive explosion engulfed the area as the pond began to bubble with the heart. Multiple parts of its armor were scattered in every available direction and several soldiers who did not comply got pierced by burning fragments, their abdomens ripping apart as blood sprayed wildly across the wet soil. A massive column of flames and smoke rose to the air and Alan winced as he picked up the scent of charred metal and burning corpses. The slow, dragging moan of the dying could be heard as the tank's crew burned in their metal coffins while the Zenebas paratroopers underneath convulsed as they slowly drowned to death.

"Holy f***…" McVay whispered, "The hell did they fall into the pond?"

"Who knows, maybe they weren't qualified to drive?" Besseus pondered.

Alan, almost drunkenly got to his feet as he surveyed the area. Pieces and chinks of the armor were everywhere as one of Acartosh's men screamed for help as a slice of armor stuck out of his calf. His eyes felt dry as the fire burned brightly and he turned away from the spectacle, a gruesome manifestation of errors in judgment.

Facing his men, he pointed and yelled at the direction of the injured soldier, screaming, "McVay, attend to that man!" McVay sprinted towards that man's aid once the word was given as Alan began walking around the field, gathering all the paratroopers together as he tried to find out who managed to get out. But one thing was for certain though, and Alan had no doubts about it at all. Turning back one last time towards the flames, he reached for a body that had been ripped in half as the man tried to climb out of the pond, only to be split apart by the tank's descent.

Grabbing the dog tags that hung from his neck, he glanced at them one more time before he stuffed them into his breast pocket.

ACARTOSH, WILBUR

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1810 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent**

**Zenebas Base Camp "Devil's Foot"**

"Ok, this is the current situation," Colonel Dariel Ross declared as he ran his fingers across the map. Counters and miniatures were littered across the map as multiple protractors and other sorts of vector-based instruments were fixed at odd angles with pins, "Operation Backlash is making great progress, considering that it only began today. The men were told to secure both bridges by eleven at the very least though if s*** hits the fan, we've given them till eleven tomorrow."

"And these men are...?" another high-ranking official at the table asked.

"All PIRs, sir," the colonel answered, "It was originally just the 518th and the 520th, along with the engineers of the 8th CED. But we ran short of manpower, over three-quarters of the two PIRs were ordered to provide back-up to the north-east, apparently the siege of the callsign "G1" Helic camp isn't going so well. We're getting there, sir, but we're going at too slow a rate."

"How do you know that this Backlash plan is making good progress?" another official prodded.

"To be honest sir, we don't know that," Ross replied, "I merely meant, sir, that the operation's deployment was going slowly and tactical analysts predict that it could well be over by tonight. It's just a matter of time."

"Tactical analysts?" the first official asked with a raised eyebrow, "And with what assumptions, factors, and variables are these…'analyses' based on?"

"Multiple of them, sir," Ross explained, trying to retain his patience, "Situation of the Republican air force, the direction of their troops, the flooding of the eastern area with the loosening of the Locks, the multiple EMPs we've set up, there are countless sir. Unfortunately we can't communicate with the Backlash squads as Republican communications close to the Wilhelm canal might pick up a sign."

"And what of this siege?" the first official queried again, "What seems to halt its progress?"

"Again sir, multiple factors," Ross replied, directing their attention back down to the map as he placed a finger on the G1 counter on the map, "This is their location, aerial and satellite photographs indicate it's pretty small, it was a village actually."

Slowly, he pulled his finger down to a green pin on the map, "This was where we found an outpost of Helic aerial reserves. They tried to disable our EMPs once, but our outpost on the other side of the _Ruädich canal_ managed to stop them. The outpost has been taken, 15 POWs secured during the skirmish. We've used this as a base of sorts to aid our outpost but the Lics are holding up pretty well. Satellite photographs also indicate that they are evacuating to another base, callsign "G4", located about seventy meters or so away from G1 and on the other side of the canal."

"We've also manage to confirm yet another two bases set up by the Lics, one at the end of the canal, callsign "G2" as well as a "G3," which seems to serve little to no purpose other than to serve as a decoy. G3 is not a concern and G2 has been elevated from tertiary to secondary objective. It's their closest link to the closest Republican military establishment they have, across the Wilhelm canal."

The second official's face was grim when he spoke the name of that particular establishment, "Aarhem."

"Yes sir, Aarhem." Ross confirmed, "Now, what we're planning to do is to create a flanking maneuver to secure G1. We're already winning the battle; it's merely a matter of time. The 517th PIR managed to secure another base to the west, where members of the G3 attempted to set up a base of sorts in an old mansion. We've secured that and relocated some troops there through the Dummach canal…apparently it's been given the callsign…"

The colonel lifted a piece of paper as he scanned through it before saying, "…eh, "Chateau Cheryl," with only three POWs reported, sir. While the second wave are still arriving the Dallas Triangle base, we'll be moving in to secure G1 and with no wavering attention, plan a lightning-fast blitzkrieg with the units from Cheryl. Once we've secured both G1 and G4, G2 becomes the primary objective as our Backlash units sever their retreat by destroying both bridges that reach across the Wilhelm canal."

"Won't the Lics know and try to stop the Backlash teams?" the second official pointed out.

"No sir," Ross answered, "The Wilhelm canal spans almost twenty-two meters long, the widest canal in the region. The 8th CED has been informed to take multiple precautions and at any rate, they'll be planting explosives from the bottom, hanging over the canal itself.

"Hhn," the first official muttered reluctantly, "Your plans seem to be foolproof, once the second wave arrives and that whole deochalcum mess at Round's Mountain is cleared up, we can push to Aarhem and from there, well…"

"Like I said sir," Ross cut in, "It's just a matter of time."

"Guess you're right, colonel," the second official said as he stared through the command room's blinds, watching the sun set behind the mountains and trees of Bareshia, "It's only a matter of time."

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1828 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G4**

Patients slowly stumbled out of the Pteras as medical staff escorted them. Soldiers scurried towards officer camps to inform them of the oncoming Zenebas forces. All was peaceful and quiet at G4, at least compared to G1. Workers helped to pull beds out for the wounded as service mechanics began battle-prepping the Zoids for the upcoming battle. An air of tension began to rise in the camp as every inhabitant waited anxiously, some even eagerly for the time to come.

Technician Felt Treus was being dragged by two nurses towards a bed and with one quick, reflexive practice, swung him onto a trolley bed where they strapped him to it with nylon clippings. Felt struggled slightly as they pushed him, the wheels of the bed bouncing across the pavement. Felt was fully aware and awake as well, though his whole body hurt like hell. He was bandaged with cuts and bruises and that ordeal with the Reddra had certainly been terrifying but at least he had gotten out of it. The best part was that he remembered what had happened and slowly and surely it was coming back to him now.

"W-Where's Matt? I mean, Matthias Perry?" Felt struggled to ask as bile formed in his throat.

"He's aware." One nurse informed the other as the bed rocked to the bumps on the road.

"Huh?" the other nurse asked as she looked down at him, "Oh. Hello, Mr. Treus, are you alright."

"If the bumps of this road weren't so bad," Felt replied, trying to maintain a sense of humor, "Where are you pushing me to?"

"The infirmary ward, sir," the first nurse explained as a gendarmerie opened the ward's door and they pushed him in, "It's good that you're awake now, the medication's wearing off. Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah…" Felt answered, somewhat wistful, "I remember. What happened to Matthias Perry? Technician Perry? T/1 Perry?"

"I'm sorry sir, but I'm not aware of any patient called Perry," the first nurse answered, "I'll check it as soon as I get the chance."

"Alright…thanks…" Felt replied, feeling his heart drop a little. Pausing for a moment as the nurses rolled him cautiously in between two other patients and adjusted the height level, he asked the first nurse, "How is it?"

"Um…I'm not really qualified to say, sir." The nurse replied as she put down his IV, "Far as I can tell your internal bleeding's been sorted out, though some fragments still remain. Your head, now there's a problem, just don't know what it is….oh, and your um, finger."

Felt chuckled, "Ah, that. Nah, that happened a long time ago, crushed my finger on a mechanic's clamp once and when the enemy started coming I had to slice it off with my own knife, just to get away."

The first nurse gawked, whilst the second one laughed at that, "Wow, are you usually this happy while you have shards in you?"

"Sharon!" the first nurse scolded before Felt assured her with a,

"No ma'am, only when I'm blown apart senseless by a Zoid."

"You were blown apart by a Zoid?" the first nurse said with her eyes wide.

"Yup, blown apart senseless, and still keeping a sense of humor!" Felt replied, "Get it? Sense of humor?", before he burst into that child-like smile of his.

The nurses both laughed along this time and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Felt actually well, felt happy. If only he could find Matt though, that was the only thing nagging at him. And something else too, actually. What if he was dead? What if Matt died in the explosion, maybe that's why he wasn't registered as a patient?

_Moons, I feel sick now._

The laughter of the nurses and the moans of the injured patients echoed around the room as Felt stared at the ceiling, consumed in his own thoughts. Why had he survived, while Matt didn't? Did he deserve to?

_Stop it, Felt. Just wait. Just wait patiently. In time, you'll find out if Matt's alright or not. Just give it time._

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1830 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Terrritory of the Central Continent**

**Fifty-three meters from Aarhem**

"Getting closer…" Reug informed the War Demon's crew as the tank strutted forwards, tearing itself through the field.

"Yeah…" Weibe whispered softly as he used a flashlight to survey the map in his hands, "We are getting close. We should be seeing the Wilhelm canal right about now."

"Hhn," Matt grunted, "It's getting dark. Won't be able to see much."

"I don't like this…" Buto said through gritted teeth, "We saw those Zenebas earlier…what if they're hear waiting for us right-"

_BOOM!_

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

Explosions tore apart the front part of the tank's hull as bits and pieces flew into the air. The wheels snapped from the suspension as the front tracks burned in flames. All Matt could make out was fire searing itself through Reug and Ward's ports, inflicting their burning carnage onto the chairs and gears. Buto screamed in terror as the tank was thrown back viciously and everyone within the vehicle buckled. Matt could make out Weibe's distinctive roar as the rounds clambered out of their holders and onto him as the tank blew backwards before coming to a deadly stop, its front half ripped into shreds.

"F***!" Weibe roared as blood covered his whole face.

"Mines…were mines…" Reug managed as multiple pieces of his instrument panel jutted out of his abdomen, violently spurting out blood and intestines. He coughed once, slowly, almost rhythmically as blood bubbled from his lips before his heart stopped and his heavy breathing ceased.

Matt struggled to get out of the burning wreckage and pushed aside parts of the interior that had fallen on him. Getting down to all fours, he twitched as his blackened palms pressed against the cold soil. Damn, it felt good. Dropping onto the grass, the technician blinked his eyes for several moments, trying to make sense of what just happened. The sky was now dark but he could still see flickering lights…fires from the destroyed War Demon.

He saw figures as well, shuffling figures in the distance slowly approaching him. _Are they…friendlies?_

As his vision came back, his hanging question was answered. No doubt that they were most definitely _not _friendlies. They wore heavy, sagging brown smocks, each one of them carrying lots of web gear that were clipped onto fasteners. And each one of them held rifles aimed at him as well, pointed with perfect precision and ready to shoot. They had been caught in an ambush.

Slowly…his senses came back to him one by one as he reached for his pocket. It was still there. The tape; still bulging out of his pants pocket. He had to get it to Aarhem, if he didn't there was no doubt that they were all going to perish unless they make it to Aarhem from G2 – or die trying.

From the corner of his eye he could make out one such man, a brave soldier who was trying to get them all to Aarhem – at the cost of his life. Corporal Weibe pushed himself to his feet, his head flowing blood into every corner of his face, soaking his tanker's uniform in blood of a deep shade of red. Matt could only watch, just as he had always done before as the man ran into battle, through the hail of bullets by the enemy and slammed himself onto one of the mines that had been unearth from the ground during the explosion.

Another explosion was brought on, another brutal chain reaction as the mines that were linked together blew up. Matt's eyes felt cold, as though there was no moisture on them as fire rose from the ground beneath and the Zenebas soldiers and Weibe were covered in flames and embalmed in shrapnel. They shrieked, both of them in an unholy crescendo as the explosion faded away and smoke began to appear. Matt continued to stare.

To his right, Private Buto pushed himself up. He could barely stand, his uniform was burned and he was covered in cuts while his legs shivered erratically. Eventually they gave and he collapsed onto the floor, leaning his body towards the side of the now disabled tank.

Ahead, Matt could see the mines starting a fire as the trees began to burn. Branches fell as they consumed both the grass and the trees as small trails of smoke grew from them, floating so high up to the sky until they were indistinguishable from the blackness of the oncoming night. Matt looked up ahead, his eye slowly following a trail of smoke from several burning trees.

_What do we do now…_Matt asked himself, _What do we do? Reug is dead. Weibe is dead. Ward? Ward's a charred corpse. Even the tank is gone now. Tell me, what do we do._ His eyes wavered from the column of smoke and the two Moons that had risen, orbiting slowly around Zi. _Moons, tell me what do we do. What do we…do?_

The Moons did not answer, but merely remained as they were, floating in the night's embrace. He was alone now. But not as alone as he thought.

"Sergeant…" Buto managed, though his voice choked at the end of his statement, "Sergeant, what do we do now?"

Matt kept silent. Then he turned to Buto with a steel-like motion and slowly brought himself to his feet. His voice, cold and emotionlessly, asked Buto, "You saw that just now?"

Before Buto could even formulate a response, Matt roared, "_Did you see that just now?!!! Huh? Did you?!_"

"Y-Yes…sir…" Buto stammered, almost frightened by what seemed to be a lunatic NCO.

"Good." Matt answered, his voice quivering back to a normal tone, "If you saw that, you should know what we're gonna do. We're gonna get to Aarhem, alright? And then we're going to bring this little piece of s***," he said, raising the tape, "to General Frank f*****' Kades, and he damn well right better be pleased or I will shoot that mother******* c*** so bad that…"

Buto stared at his officer, his expression trying to remain calm and steady. Matt trailed off, his voice of reason slowly coming in. Finally, after an awkward silence, Buto got to his feet as well, gripping the tank's burnt side for support.

"Yes, sir. We'll do that."

Matt stared at the private, his eyes blank though somewhat suspicious. Alas, he said, "Good. Very good. Private."


	7. Chapter Seven

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1845 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Thirty-one meters from Aarhem**

Warrant Sergeant Matthias Perry wasn't in a particularly cheery situation. Here he was, walking painfully towards Aarhem while he was covered head to toe in his own blood. Behind him was Buto, who for once had decided to shut up and tailed right behind him, his face a sober expression. In Matt's hands were the dog tags of Weibe, Reug, and Ward, all who had died because of his stupidity…his ignorance. If they hadn't had stopped to answer the SOS call, if he had just ignored it…maybe they would have gotten to the bridges before the Zenebas forces…maybe they'd still be alive today?

He shook his head. _Dammit, f*** you Warrant f*****' Lieutenant Bryce. F*** you._ Matt cursed inside his mind, _I wouldn't be stuck in this mess if it wasn't for you. I'm a technician, not a bloody soldier, I don't know s*** about this. I made an error in judgment, and now look where we are. Far as I'm concerned, we'd be lucky if the other tank made it before us._

His thoughts though, were interrupted by a new sound. The sound of the rushing of water in the distance. Immediately, both he and Buto perked up and began pushing forwards, past the shrubbery and trees. They eventually broke through the thick and dense jungle, both of them sweating with exhaustion to find the Wilhelm canal, raging downstream as the waves formed foams when they collided with the bank. Matthias looked down, almost grateful for their discovery before he turned his head around, trying to locate any sign of bridges or Zenebas soldiers.

"There!" Buto said, pointing eagerly at another direction, "Sergeant, there's a bridge there!"

Buto began to run off towards the bridge and through the fog and moonlight, even Matt could slowly make it out. Running after Buto, he felt hopeful for the first time in a long time. At last he could complete his job, and at last he could get some rest. His boots still felt heavy though, but he dragged them along the side of the path with a relentless will to survive. Sweat soaked through the fabric of his clothes and he felt his muscles cry out in pain as he pushed himself to run faster. _Damn I'm getting old, _he thought in his head bemusingly as Buto arrived at the side of the bridge.

"Sir, I don't see any Zenebas soldiers nearby," Buto reported, "Maybe they're all gone."

"Hmm…" Matt replied with the wave of a hand and rushed onto the bridge. Grabbing the side of the ledge, he twisted his body at a full one-eighty degree turn, a basic maneuver of every sapper as his head reached the underside of the bridge. Sure enough and just as he had predicted, the Zenebas' own combat engineering teams had laced explosives throughout the first half of the bridge, where the Aarhem sentries couldn't spot them due to the fog. They were probably waiting either for Aarhem troops to get on the bridge or extra tanks that might have past the mines to get on it before they blew it up.

"Sir?" Buto asked, "What is it?"

"Explosives, Buto," Matt answered his question as he sat down on the side of the bridge, wiping his forehead with his sleeve, "The Zenebas f*****s were trying to blow the bridge up when we or the Aarhem soldiers came across."

"Hhn," Buto muttered and sat down on the opposite side of the bridge. He took off his tanker's helm, running his hand through his jet black hair before asking, "Sir, what about the other bridge? I thought there were two?"

"What does it matter, anyway?" Matt questioned, "Our job is just to get this to General Kades." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the VCR tape, a small little black box with two rings of film wrapped within it.

Buto didn't answer. They both sat that for a moment or two, enjoying the sound of the Wilhelm canal and the breeze as the sun fully set in the valley and the two Moons slowly came into place. Finally, Matt somewhat forced a cough and commented,

"You know, Buto," he began, staring down at the tape, "You were right."

Buto looked up and stared back at his NCO. He didn't say a word.

"Right about the whole thing," Matt continued somewhat awkwardly, "If only we hadn't listened to the signal but instead gone straight to Aarhem, then we wouldn't be stuck here like this. We might have gotten there earlier and Weibe…Reug, Ward, they might all still be alive."

A silence fell between the two, now not a calm one but a more tense, forceful atmosphere. Matt took a deep breath, and kept on talking,

"If we…if I hadn't hesitated, we could have driven all the way here, faster than even those Zenebas troops. We'd have gotten to Aarhem and we might even…we might even be there toasting to our victory, getting congratulated by General Kades…maybe even winning the battle. We could have been heroes, written in textbooks as the ones who saved Bareshia Bay."

"We could have." Buto suddenly cut in.

As Matt looked away from the VCR tape and upwards towards Buto, Buto took the chance to spark the conversation, "We could have sir, but we didn't. Not you, we didn't."

"Reug made his choice to drive towards where you wanted to go, Weibe, he was just bound by loyalty," Buto explained, "Ward? Ward was just a pu***."

Matt broke into a small laugh, "Heh. Guess you're right about that one thing. He was a bit of a dork."

Buto chuckled as well, "Yeah, he was a wimp." Then his expression took a more serious tone as he continued, "But sir, I just wanted you to know that it wasn't single-handedly all your fault. Sure you f***** up, but it wasn't all your fault for that."

"Gee, thanks." Matt said with a dry, sarcastic roll of his eyes.

"No I'm serious. Sir," Buto replies, "We all made our own choices when we joined the 187th. Reug wanted to fight, Ward didn't want to be called a coward. Weibe; Weibe was dying from a tumor. In his f*****' head."

Matt stared, his mouth now wordless. Buto glanced at him once before resuming, "Me? I just don't want to die. You probably think, sir, it's because I'm a coward. I'm afraid of dying, all that s*** that I had to take every day from Weibe and Reug. But that's not true, that's not why I don't want to die. Not yet, at least. I've got a wife and two kids at home. Do you have a wife, sir?"

"Um, no actually."

"Then you probably don't know what it feels like, am I right?" Buto answered, "You're fighting for your basic survival instinct, me, I'm fighting for someone else."

"But you're only f*****' eighteen…"

"Sure, we had kids at sixteen," Buto said with a smile as he reached for his breast pocket. Unbuttoning it, he pulled out a wallet and slipped out a photograph from that. Handing it over to Matt, Matt grabbed it gently and stared at it.

It was a photograph of Buto and his wife along with their two children. They all sat together, a typical family photo on a couch. _Damn, he looked even younger back then, _Matt thought somewhat enviously. He handed the photo back to Buto.

"Got yourself a beautiful wife there." Matt offered.

"Yes," Buto said, staring at the photo dreamily, "Yes I do."

Matt stared at Buto once, looking at him with a whole new perspective before rising to his feet, "Come on, we've got a job to do."

Buto followed him, and they both began walking down the bridge.

"Yes we do."

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1846 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Forty-four meters from Aarhem**

_Six…_Alan silently thought to himself as he and his troops trudged in the dense woodland, _Six of mine and Acartosh's men remaining. _Slowly, he turned his head backwards to watch his troops, walking behind him in silence as well.

Of all his men, only two had survived. McVay ran out just as the tank came crashing down whilst Besseus had trailed along with him the instance he gave the order to flee. The other four men were from Acartosh's regiment, the 518th PIR. One of them was injured however, which merely added more to the list of their increasing problems. So far, Backlash seemed to be deteriorating at a rapid pace, a pathetic excuse of uncoordinated logistics and an overconfident approach.

Alan sorted through the list of problems that he had on his hands right now. He'd lost more than half of his squad, and there was a man in dire need of medical attention right now. What he was hoping for was that if the 520th and the rest of their respective regiments had gotten there by now, there might be a chance of a trained combat medic to aid Acartosh's man. If there was no medic or either if they hadn't reached there yet, the chances of the man needing to get his leg amputated were quite likely. And the last thing he needed was the blood of another man on his hands. And knowing well the fact that he had led Acartosh down.

_If I don't make it…if we all don't make it, then he would have died in vain, _Acartosh pondered bitterly, _Overused and corny it might seem, but if we don't make it then all those people who were killed…Barthol, Darms…Alycon, it would all be for nothing._

His thoughts were immediately interrupted by Private Besseus, who took point and was scouting up ahead before he ran back through some shrubbery and cried out, "Sarge! Sergeant Graf! I found the rest of them!"

A surge of hope suddenly sparked within Alan as he turned back once more and gave orders to the rest of the soldiers to help the injured man get to safety. Shuffling stealthily through the dirt and trees, Alan eagerly cleared the way and directed the man, who was carried by McVay and another soldier, his leg contorted in a gruesome fashion. Alan couldn't watch the man's face, laced with sweat as he screamed in agony without feeling sick. There was something miserable about it all, something so morbid and tenebrous that he struggled to maintain his cool. It would all be over soon, once he found the….

"Graf?" a voice gasped, though Alan could tell that it was out of breath, "Graf, by the Moons, is that you?"

A sudden odor hit his nostrils as Alan's eyebrow instinctively raised at the sound of that 'theological name' before his eyes adjusted to the dark. Several men were huddled around, holding their rifles close to them. They looked worn-out, as if they had fought for years and blackened ash and soot covered their uniform and faces. Alan glanced upwards at the direction of the smell. It smelt like burning foliage. Burning trees, or rather, burnt ones. Their barks were scorched and their branches left barely hanging, stripped of their leaves though embers still remained on them, flickering in the evening light.

"Graf!" the voice called out, "Over here!"

McVay and the other man settled the injured soldier down as Alan jogged over to the end of the group of soldiers. The man who was calling out to him raised his hand and before Alan even crouched down to speak to him, he'd recognized who he was.

"Lieutenant?" Alan asked, his sentence shaking with emotion, "Lieutenant En-Cole, is that you?!"

"Yeah son, it's me, En-Cole," the Lieutenant replied, his face an image of relief, "My Moons, you're the first face I recognize since the start of this whole bloody operation! I didn't even know your regiment was participating in Backlash!"

Alan smiled in response. En-Cole was the man who had assigned him to the 517th PIR in the first place, and the only one to truly support him. It was tough being a human in a Zoidian world, but En-Cole was a true believer against segregation like the apartheid between the Wind Muroa and Earth Zenebas tribes in the earlier days. Apparently he was also one of the original men who helped to humans who first crash-landed on the Global 3 starship years ago, but if he was one of them, Alan would have been too young to remember.

"Only a few of us, sir," Alan explained before looking around at the black that had settled into the fabric of Lt. En-Cole's combat vest, "Sir, what happened here? Where's everyone else…and why are all these trees…"

"Burnt?" Lt. En-Cole offered, "The terrible weather and the misconduction of the Reddra PDTs scattered all the regiments into different places. Many of us have banded together in little groups and we still can't find the whole Backlash OP team. There are even rumors of Helics prowling about, and who knows but there could even be some lost soldiers on our side."

"We're sitting ducks out here," the lieutenant continued, "We can't communicate with HQ since they're afraid Aarhem might pick up transmissions, and without the rest of the OP team, we're pretty much stuck out here. We've got a few members from the 8th CED as well, but they collectively only had enough explosives for one bridge."

"Yeah sir," Alan said, his mind wavering back to the tank incident, "They're even beginning to use Earth-based weapons now."

"What, like those stupid tracked vehicles?" the lieutenant asked before resuming, "We got one of those sons of b****** with our mines before one of their surviving crew ran towards the remaining mines. That idiot sent a chain reaction towards the rest of our explosives and before we knew it, half our men were set on fire, our sappers had blown to pieces from the TNT they were wearing, and the whole f*****' forest was blazing light crazy."

"How'd you put it out, sir?" Alan queried.

"We didn't," the lieutenant answered bluntly, "We dug foxholes and waited there till the fire went out by itself. Was pretty fast though, we only waited for about fifteen minutes before the fire died."

Alan leaned back on a ridge before he suddenly remembered the injured man and asked, "Sir? Do you by any chance have a medic in this bunch?"

Lt. En-Cole looked at the rag-tag band of soldiers and his gaze locked-in on the man, his calf bleeding rapidly as the piece of metal remained embedded in him. Turning back to Alan, he replied, "Sorry, Graf, but we don't have a doc in this group, and none of these people have any medical proficiencies as far as I'm aware."

"F***," Alan swore, "We need to get that man medical attention soon, sir. I'm not sure at this rate that his leg will make it at all. What if he dies of blood loss?"

"Don't you worry about that son," En-Cole answered, "He might need to get his leg sawed off, no doubt, but if we just jab in some shots of morphine and pull the piece out, he might make it."

"Pull the….piece out?" Alan asked, his face a dumbfounded expression. En-Cole merely nodded in response as he opened his first-aid pouch. Alan looked down and reached for his pants pocket as well. Unzipping his right one, he pulled out the dog tag and read it.

ACARTOSH, WILBUR.

It was a little burned at the edge, the side was burnt and had slightly melted during the explosion but the words were still intact along with the serial number beneath it. _If we don't make it, if we don't all make it, I'd have let him down, _Alan reminded himself as he stared at the tags. _Six. I'm not going to let it be a five. It's gonna be a six…and it's gonna stay a six._

As he pulled his head up, the lieutenant tossed a syringe of morphine towards him. He grabbed it gracefully, checked that it was the typically administered regulation amount as En-Cole reached into the pouch again. Retracting his hand, the lieutenant revealed a packet of sulfur as well as a roll of bandages. Alan gratefully accepted both and got to his feet. En-Cole kept his eye trained on him as Alan walked unsteadily towards the man, whose jaw was chattering with turmoil. Gingerly, Alan got to his knees and directed McVay and the other man to lean backwards to give him some room.

_Come on, Alan…_ Alan muttered to himself in his head, an action that he generally only did when he was wracking with anxiety, _…easy as pie…just jab the needle, pull the thing out, pour the sulfur, and bandage it up._

Slowly and steadily, the staff sergeant rolled the soldier's pants upwards. He moaned in protest but Alan kept pushing the material upwards to his thigh. Then, without warning, he jabbed the morphine's needle deep into the soldier's thigh. The man winced and bit his tongue before letting out a roar of surprise. Alan swiftly pulled it out and fell back on his ass. Sweat was already forming on his brow and he shivered at the thought that he had already caused this man's misery and was only contributing more to it. It was his stupid idea, rolling down the slope and hiding in the pond. It was also his hesitance to give the order to get the hell out of it that led to Acartosh's death. Sure, he had only knew the men for a few hours but when two people go into war together, regardless of whether or not they were human or Zoidian, they were already brothers right there on the spot. Each one was willing to give their lives up for another, each one considering each other worth giving up their own lives for as well. Acartosh had done that…so couldn't Alan do this little surgery for this man?

The man's breathing steadied as the morphine took control. Alan only feared for the side-effects of addiction and withdrawal as he began putting on his field gloves. The padded insides pressed against his hands as he slowly turned the man's mangled leg towards the right. Gripping the piece of embedded shrapnel as firm as he could, Alan gave a mighty tug.

Blood spurted vigorously from the gap as Alan pulled the piece out, his muscles tensing as his forearms began to retract. The man's body trembled violently as he pulled the fragment out and McVay and the other 518th PIR soldier had to hold him down before Alan finally ripped the piece out. A wave of nausea struck him, one far more intense than the fumes of the burnt forest as he recoiled back. His gloves were now muddled with blood and dirt and the piece of fragment still held several strips of flesh, dangling onto it.

Throwing the piece aside, Alan smeared the sulfur packet with his gloves as he clumsily tore the strip apart, spewing yellow powder everywhere. Performing it as agilely as he could, he poured sulfur into the wound of the man, tensing his eyes every now and then as the sulfur flowed into the gaps and caked along with the blood that was still pouring out, mixing to form a creamy, milky substance. He turned the packet back upwards and placed it aside before reaching for the roll of bandages. As he began to unravel them, he spoke to McVay,

"McVay, hold the leg still," Alan ordered before he scolded himself for referring to the leg as though it had already been amputated.

As professionally as he could Alan began to rotate the roll of bandages around the calf, careful not to put too much pressure on the wound as he applied the bandage. McVay held the leg steady as the sulfur came into contact with the bandages, smearing itself and making its yellowish hue visible through the bandages' material. Finally, right after he had covered the wound with three layers and when the sulfur was barely visible, he tied a little knot at the end and sat himself back down on the ground as McVay and the other man slowly put the hurt soldier on his back. McVay administered a shot of medication and the man slowly faded back to a world free of hurt, his eyelids drooping down on his pupils.

Alan didn't realize that his breathing had escalated before McVay put a hand on his shoulder and commented, "Good job, sir." Alan could only nod before he forced himself to his feet. The other soldiers seemed to give off a vibe of acceptance as well and for Alan, it was the first time that he actually felt comfortable with his men. No longer human or Zoidian. They were soldiers, and soldiers of the same side stuck together with one another against all hardships, no matter what.

"Nice handiwork there," En-Cole offered when Alan walked by and handed back his medical supplies, "Ever considered a career as a surgeon?"

Alan didn't even bother answering that obviously stupid question as he dropped his helmet next to the lieutenant along with his Asp-21 rifle before walking further along the forest line. En-Cole merely looked at his fading figure before turning back to the packet of cigarettes in his hand and drew one out, lighted it up, and took an unhealthy, long puff from it.

The trees around Alan seemed to act like candles, the embers on them and the sparks that floated around him providing light for a dreary night. Already the moons seemed to be approaching from the mountains behind them and Alan could feel the chill slowly settling into him, seeping through his smock. He rubbed his eyes once, twice, and felt an urge to sleep…such a strong urge to rest, a sensation that he had not acknowledged for the whole day. He had known that he was already losing focus by the time they had met the tank…and perhaps…

_Ironic, isn't it…_Alan told himself, _It's your memories of Earth that come back to haunt you._ Alan fought back a bitter laugh at his predicament as his eyes squinted and spotted a short figure in the distance. From the antenna that dangled from his back, Alan knew it was Besseus.

The private turned around as Alan approached him, "Hey sarge,"

"Hey," Alan answered, his throat feeling quite hoarse.

"You good, sarge?' Bess asked, now concerned.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm…" Alan began before rolling his eyes and contradicting himself, "No. No, f*** no I'm not fine."

"I can tell that." Bess stated as he sat on the soil. The bushes danced with the wind as the private set the portable radio pack in front of him. As he played with the knobs, the private inquired, "You wanna talk about it, sir?"

"You sound like my mom now," Alan said sarcastically, as he sat next to the private.

"Hey, it does help," Bess answered as he picked up a signature, "My mom used to say 'if you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to a man in his language, that goes to his heart.'"

Alan dwelt on the 'quote' for awhile before responding, "I don't get it."

"Neither did I, sir." Bess replied with a hoot of laughter, "But it sure did sound wise coming out of my mom's mouth."

"Ain't you a joker," Alan drily countered.

_I see skies of blue…clouds of white…_ the radio began as static crackled in every now and then.

"Always was, as my mom would attest, sir," Bess haughtily answered.

"I'm sure she would." Alan never really knew his parents, he never got to experience most of the stuff that kids got to do with their parents as they grew up. They were never really there, he only remembered them faintly dropping by their stately mansion every now and then to give him a pat on the head. Some would say when he encountered the war on Zi, he grew up too fast. As far as he knew, they were financially well-off, considering that they had enough money to send him on one of the Global ships.

_Bright blessed days…dark sacred nights…_

"You sure you don't want to talk about it, sir?" Bess asked again, "You seem pretty distressed."

"Damn it, you really do sound like my mom," Alan mentioned again.

_And I think to myself…what a wonderful world…_

"Hey, makes sense, doesn't it sir?" Bess continued as the music played in the background.

"What makes sense?"

"We're kinda like your family now."

_The colors of a rainbow…so pretty…in the sky…_

"Hhn," was Alan's only response, "I guess so."

_Are also on the faces…of people…going by,,,_

"I mean like…" Bess continued, ignoring his NCO, "Out here, we're the only support we got for one another, ya know? It really got me thinking, right after the whole tank accident…when everyone was so quick to check whether we were each okay sir…so quick…"

_I see friends shaking hands…saying how do you do…_

"Yeah…" was Alan's wistful answer.

_They're really saying…I love you…_

_I hear babies cry…I watch them grow…_

"Out here, we're not on our own," Bess went on, "Cuz out here in the big bad world, we got each other right, sir?" Bess put his fist up, pointing his knuckles at his staff sergeant.

_They'll learn much more…than I'll ever know…_

Alan grinned, "You've been filling your head with too much of that rap s***," before responding with his own knuckles as the two fists slammed into one another.

Bess grinned back as the two of them sat in silence, the embers floating gently into the air as the radio continued to hum its soft, melodic lullaby.

_And I think to myself…what a wonderful world…_

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1900 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G4**

"Why, Doc?" Felt asked in protest as the doctor dragged him out of the ward.

He still felt rather lofty, and his head had its occasional pangs but aside from a few pangs and cuts here and there, he was actually in a pretty healthy state. Still, it ached his brain when the doctor dragged him out of the ward and it began to ache even more as he saw the swarm of soldiers, technicians, staff, patients, and whoever else that was left in G4 slowly leave in modified Pteras and Salamander units.

"Because apparently the Colonel reasoned that an evacuation in the night to G2 was a smarter tactical move and that G4 wasn't a major tactical objective – I don't know, aren't you suppose to know this s***?!" the doctor abruptly ended in frustration.

"I'm a technical officer, sir," Felt replied, chuckling, "Not a tactician."

"Yeah, I can tell." The doctor grumpily responded as he dragged Felt towards the 'MEDICAL ONLY' sign in front of the line of patients and medical staff boarding a massive Salamander.

"Ain't someone grumpy tonight."

Ain't someone talkative," the doctor retorted, "I liked you better when you were half-drugged with random brain pangs."

"Aren't medical staff suppose to, I don't know, 'promote the well-being and both physical and mental stability of their patients?'" Felt quoted from the Zoidian medical creed, thanking the Moons for his part-time job as a clinic's prescription pharmacist.

"Oh, f*** you," the doctor swore, earning weird stares from several other peers.

"Yup, feeling better already."

Truth be told, Felt was fully aware of the so-called 'reasons' why they were evacuating from the gossiping nurses. Keeping both eyes closed and snoring steadily was child's play for Felt. G1 was already taken it seems and it was only seventy-meters from G1 to G4, easy view for recon and really-powerful binoculars. The top brass didn't see G4 as much of anything really; it was the last base to be constructed and was barely even half way through the whole construction process. Republican recon already informed them that Zenebas forces were crossing the _Ruädich _canal and they were probably going to arrive at G4 by the morning. _Makes sense to run away, I suppose._

The crowd of evacuating people was colossal; Felt could barely make out a single one of them in the wave of chattering Republican staff. _Even if Matt was here, finding him would be like finding a needle in a haystack…no scratch that, more like finding a grain of sugar in a beach._ Every day Felt still wondered about Matt and where the hell he was. He tended to tell himself that Matt was a tough guy, a strong man and that he'd be able to pull himself out of any situation. Coordination in such dire circumstances was hard and it was easy that it simply got messed up in the midst of multiple battles. The nurse he had asked told him that there was no patient registered as Perry, Matthias, but for all she and Felt knew, there could be.

_Still…he could still be alive…_Felt kept that little 'fact' in his head as he boarded the Salamander, _Still…_


	8. Chapter Eight

**Author's Note:**

Admittedly, I did say that I would try to end this by this chapter, but seeing as how I want to have a proper conclusion to the story, I've decided to drag it a little longer until Chapter 9. Also, for those who are not aware of the meaning of the term 'Moons,' it's a little something I made up in my previous work. The Zoidians essentially have a monotheistic international religion and believe that the 'Moons,' or the two moons that orbit around the planet Zi are their gods.

Reviews and comments are both welcomed and appreciated.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1911 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Aarhem**

The waiting room that both Matt and Buto were in was at a chillingly low temperature. Matt could see his own breath as he sat next to Buto, gently pressing his palms against one another to generate heat. Even the private was chattering as he wrapped his arms around himself.

The warrant sergeant was slightly pissed at his predicament; they had nearly been mowed down by friendly machine-gun fire since most Republican soldiers were not familiar with the rarely showcased cavalry uniform. After handing the tape over to General Kades' aid, a man by the name of Terrence Tyler, they were forced to wait in the so-called 'waiting room' though Matt thought the title 'freezer' would be a little more appropriate.

"Do they think we're spies or something?" Buto asked, his teeth chattering against one another.

"Who knows," was Matt's only response. Glancing at the clock on the wall, they had already been waiting in Arctic temperatures for at least fifteen minutes now. Not to mention that their legs were sore, they were tired, and they definitely were irritated.

Before Buto could voice out another one of his 'theories,' the door suddenly clicked open and Mr. Tyler appeared, his pale face as apathetic as ever.

"The General would like to see you now." He said, his monotone voice devoid of emotion.

Buto followed after Matt as they exited the waiting room, both of them sighing in relief as they entered the room-temperature hallways of the Aarhem base. Zoids pilots in full uniforms walked by as Mr. Tyler led the two of them down the hall. Matt shivered as he looked out the row of glass windows at the woodland. There was one place he certainly did not wish to re-visit.

They turned right, past a junction again before Mr. Tyler stopped at a door marked 'CENTRAL COMMAND.' Knocking once before opening the door, he then motioned the two tankers with a wave of his hand and said, "In here, please."

Matt whispered a quiet thank-you to Mr. Tyler as he nervously walked him. Gathered around a scale map of the whole Western area of Delpoli were three men, all of them high-ranking officials. Matt immediately recognized the General, a tall, broad man whose face was wrinkled with war-scars. He nodded slightly as Matt and Buto came in before reaching for his pocket and pulling out the tape that Matt had handed over to Mr. Tyler.

"Sir..." Matt began, forgetting his manners for a moment before starting over, "Sir, Warrant Sergeant Matthias Perry of the 4th Squad, 187th Tank Battalion reporting for duty, sir!"

"Private Hayate Buto, sir!" Buto suddenly spat out.

The General did not reply with pleasantries as he went straight to business, "Did Colonel James give you this tape?"

"Yes sir," Matt answered, "Four other tank crews were also each given a copy, sir."

"Yes, I was made aware of that by this 'VCR' tape," General Kades replied as he put the tape down, "No other 'tank'…crew, however, has made it here. It seems you two might be the only one which somehow makes me suspicious…"

"Sir?" Matt said, his voice shaking somewhat.

"Where was your tank, then?" General Kades bluntly questioned, his blue eyes piercing into Matt's.

"It was destroyed sir, we were ambushed by Zenebas forces while getting here." Matt explained.

"Don't be ridiculous, Zenebas forces haven't even made it through G2 yet, how do you-" another one of the officials in the room asked before he was undermined by Buto who yelled,

"How the hell would you know?! We risked our asses, been at it for hours now and this is the thanks we g-"

"That's enough, private." The general calmly cut in, "It's alright, Brigadier. Thanks to these two, we've now got proof to send to the brass and we'll be able to intervene before we lose any more of Bareshia."

The brigadier general only grunted in response as General Kades continued, "And now we're also made aware that Zenebas forces may be in the area."

"One of the bridges is also covered with explosives underneath it, sir," Matt mentioned absent-mindedly.

"A technician, aren't you?" the General sarcastically commented.

"Actually I am, sir," Matt cut in, "Or rather, I was before I was forced to become a tank commander. I was in the 24th ED before this."

"A technician," the general droned, "We'll need more of your kind, I might need you to participate in our support assault."

"Support…assault?" Matt asked.

"Yes, recon has confirmed that Zenebas forces have been made well aware that our forces in G4 are evacuating back to G2. They're ignoring G4 and striking straight for G2, possibly tonight as well." The general elaborated, "And if there are explosives on our bridge, we probably need to increase security on both ends of it."

"What about G1, sir?" Matt pressed, suddenly recalling that Felt was moved to the ICU there.

"G1 was already taken by today, around noontime," the brigadier general explained, "Everyone there, or everyone left at least, have been evacuated to G4…and they're now falling back to G2."

"We're going to need all the technicians we can get," General Kades informed them, "We could use a hand, if only one, when we launch all surprise assault."

"Do I get a choice?" Matt asked.

"No, not really. At this rate, we need all the hands we can get," the brigadier general answered in a snobby fashion, "You'll be given quarters to share with the…private, if you wish to rest. We're deploying at 2000 hours, ETA 2010 hours."

"Yes, sir." Matt confirmed.

With that, the discussion was finished and the two were dismissed. As the two of them exited the hallway and Mr. Tyler began leading them towards their newly assigned quarters, Buto hissed,

"Are you crazy, sir?" he spat, "You're in no state to fight, let alone be a technician!"

"I have my orders," Matt simply replied, even though he knew it was more for finding Felt, rather than some stupid patriotism ideology.

"And those orders are going to get you killed,' Buto muttered, leading them to walk in silence.

Matt kept his pace steady, trying to make sure he wasn't too worked out and got a proper amount of rest. _I need to find him…need to find, Felt. Hell, if I don't…then…_ Matt shook his head slightly, trying to keep his inner turmoil from Buto. _If I don't…what am I going to tell his parents? Or his sister? Or…Moons damn it…_

The two of them continued down the hallway, never speaking a word although Matt was barely constraining an urge to get into a Pteras and fly all the way to G2.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1915 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Forty-four meters from Aarhem**

"Under these circumstances, we're in big trouble," Alan said as a number of soldiers crowded around him, "There are Helic troops out there in the forest and nearly half of the whole OP team is lost out here in the woods. We have to break the silence and get into communication with Devil's Foot."

"If we do, who knows how the Lics might intercept!" an uptight sergeant by the name of Elfard White argued, "The whole point of Backlash would be demolished, then!"

"If we don't, we're doomed to die out here!" Alan shot back, "Backlash was a failure from the start, Lieutenant, if we don't ask HQ what to do now, the only other viable option is to retreat!"

"And go where, Graf?" White replied with a sneer, "There's nowhere we can run to, chances are, the Lics are probably already charging forward for Aarhem themselves, judging from those Earth 'tanks' we encountered."

"It's better than a suicidal run to Aarhem," Alan countered.

"Yeah?" the sergeant prodded, "Suicidal, maybe, but at least we can set the explosives off on both bridges and destroy whatever link they have to Bareshia. That way, we can stall them, even if we do get gunned down here."

"He's got a point, sir," McVay insisted, "At least we'll still be able to prevent them from doing anything major, they've already lost air superiority. At this rate, we'll be able to push forward and crush Aarhem while our second wave arrives."

"No, we are not going to do that!" Alan roared, "First off, that is just plain pointless. Security has probably already been increased since our presence here is likely known and I'm not going to throw away the lives of my soldiers just like that. Next, we have an injured man, and finally, let's ask the f*****' HQ what to do first!!"

A silence fell upon the group before White gave in and said, "Fine. We'll ask HQ."

Alan gave the signal to Private Besseus, who had already placed the headphones on himself and began tuning, trying to detect frequencies the old-fashioned way. The other soldiers remained in their squatting positions, patiently waiting for the radioman to finally detect a Zenebas signal that would relay them to the HQ hot-line. Private Bess frowned as he adjusted the knobs, his eyebrows contorted into a single arch.

"Well?" White asked, his voice tingling with impatience.

"Hold on sir," Bess replied with a grumble, "I'm trying to establish a connection."

White threw up his hands in frustration and sighed, "F*** you, we have to at least try to disable those bridges and fast!"

"No we will not." A voice muttered.

The two soldiers turned around and immediately saluted when they saw Lt. En-Cole pace slowly towards them. His legs seem to be trembling somewhat as he waded through some men who were making way for him. Taking a deep breath, he said once more,

"We will not go, Sergeant," he said, pointing a finger at White, "We can't go."

"Sir, with all due respect," White spoke, though barely keeping the menace in his tone, "You can be court-martialed for ignoring orders and being AWOL."

"I'm not talking about desertion, sergeant," the lieutenant spat back, "We will be shot down and killed and I for one will not be letting my soldiers go down in such a stupid manner. Let the courts do their worse, I'll take full responsibility for this."

"I can't allow that, lieutenant," White said with finality, getting to his feet. Without warning, he drew his sidearm from a holster on his belt pocket and aimed it right at the lieutenant.

A concert of clicks and clacks resounded as charging handles were pulled and firearms raised. Nearly all of the dozen or so soldiers from different PIRs were now aiming guns at the enemies of their respective alliances. About eight or so of them, members of White's squad in the 520th PIR had rifles and pistols aimed at the lieutenant, Alan and the rest of both his and Acartosh's men. Alan noticed that McVay had not raised his pistol, despite quite obviously having one that hung out from his pouches.

"Put down your weapons," Lt. En-Cole commanded as his body stayed icily still, "I gave you all an order. All of you. Put down your weapons."

"I can't do that…sir," White mocked, his arm vibrating as he struggled to keep the pistol's barrel straight at the lieutenant's head.

Bess had remained motionless and static crackled into his head through the head-phones. Alan held his Asp-21 in one hand, pointing the barrel right for White while he had a dozen or so more rifles pointed towards his head.

"Look, White," Alan began, "If you and your men want to go on a suicidal mission, go. The rest of us are following the lieutenant's orders and staying here."

"Even if his orders could get you all executed?" White asked, his right eye turning to Alan.

"At this rate, that sounds a whole lot better than what your orders are suggesting." Alan retorted.

White didn't reply but instead chose to keep his cool, maintaining eye-contact with the lieutenant. Lt. En-Cole kept his eyes straight on White's as well. Neither of them moved a muscle before finally White let out a breath and slowly pulled his pistol down. He flicked his hand and the rest of the man from his squad pulled their rifles down too. Those loyal to Alan and En-Cole also lowered their rifles as each soldier slowly backed away from one another.

"Um…sir?" Bess said awkwardly, "I can't get a signal. We probably can't reach HQ at this distance."

Alan didn't acknowledge that but instead began to steadily walk backwards. White and his men began to gather their belongings and clip on their web-gear. Several other soldiers got to their feet as well and began pulling up their rifles and helmets as they prepared to go on a suicidal mission. _Is this what the Zenebas military has deteriorated into? _Alan asked himself as he dropped his Asp-21 on the floor, _that its soldiers are more afraid of dishonor over death? That the cause they are fighting for so much more important than their lives? Or the families…the husbands, wives, children, parents they leave behind when they die?_

"I hope you all know what you're doing," was En-Cole's only comment as he saluted them all.

Several soldiers saluted the lieutenant back but White merely ignored him as he began the track through the burnt trees. Alan's heart dropped as he saw McVay adjust his pistol and pick up his own rifle before following White's group of men.

"McVay….?" Alan asked, slightly hurt.

"I'm sorry, sir," McVay offered as he shrugged, "But I'd rather die, knowing I died for something. At least I know all those people who died by that f*****' tank didn't die for nothing."

"Look," Alan said, "It was my fault and I know that, and I know how you-"

"No sir, I don't think you do," McVay bitterly replied as he got ready to leave, "Those men, they were my friends. Barthol. Alycon, Darms…Hailay, they were all friends of mine. You? You only knew them for several days. That was it."

Alan couldn't formulate a response as McVay walked away. Turning around one last time, the soldier said, "And you know what? You're right; it _was _all your fault."

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 1946 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G2**

Warrant Lieutenant Eltham Bryce cursed as he ran across the town's cobbled streets, dodging heavy-machine gun fire from Zenebas squads towards the south. His boots clacked violently on the pavement and his pouches bounced violently off his chest. Sweat dripped from every corner of his body, soaking his uniform wet with his own perspiration. An explosion resounded in the distance as Reddras began swarming from the sky, dropping their bomb payloads across the Helic camp and sending debris and sand erupting into the air.

_Damnit, how did they know that we were abandoning G4?_ Bryce questioned to no one in particular as he quickly took cover behind a wall. Above him, one of the Salamander units carrying at least thirty men and women from G4 began landing protocol before it was blasted out of the sky by multiple Reddras and their mounted machine-guns. Bryce kept his hands on his ears as the guns roared, raining the Salamander with its bullets before it clattered onto the tar road, erupting into a mixture of smoke and flames. Bryce coughed as his mind raced. _My Moons, I thought being a lieutenant was supposed to be easy? Now all the tanks are blown up and I'm running for my life!_

Bryce took a deep breath and counted to three before he made a speedy dash towards another building. Right as he crossed the road in between, a Marder suddenly emerged from an alleyway and he instantly stopped and held his position. The lizard-like head of the Zenebas Zoid cocked to his direction and Bryce could only cower as he realized the pilot within had been made aware of his position. Its electromagnetic pod launches rotated towards him and in that instant, Bryce knew he was a goner. _Oh Moons, if you two save my sorry ass right now, I swear I'll quit the army and go be a cleric._

As though his prayer had been answered, a rocket soared through a rooftop window and smashed itself into the Marder's head, pummeling the whole Zoid down to the ground. The silver metal of its armor flew in the air and Bryce winced as he heard the sickening crack of the cockpit glass. Bringing his head to the point of origin for the rocket, he quickly spotted a fellow Republican soldier, holding an RPG in his hand as he signaled for Bryce to enter the building.

"Come on!" the man roared, "Let's go, go, go!!"

Bryce complied and thanked the Moons once more as he raced for the entrance. Pulling it aside before entering, he shut the door tightly and immediately worked its bolt lock. Looking upwards, he saw shadows dance as the man who saved his life dashed down the stairs. Bryce wiped the sweat off his forehead as the man slid down the banister and began to laugh.

"Damn, you're the first friendly face I've seen in awhile now!" the man said before introducing himself, "Staff Sergeant Hanks Allen."

"Warrant Lieutenant Eltham Bryce," Bryce answered, turning a little red when he said the word 'warrant,' "It's a temporary thing."

"Yeah, I heard about the under-manned thing," Allen answered sympathetically, "Met a guy a few days ago, same thing happened to him."

"Yeah…" was Bryce's only response.

"We're pretty much stuck here; we probably have to hold out until...well, I'm not sure what we're waiting for actually."

Bryce was about to suggest that they keep moving before a tremor hit the building. Allen pushed Bryce down and they both took cover as another explosion was set off, this one hitting quite close towards their building. Smoke burst in through every crack and crevice as the windows' curtains lashed out violently. Bryce could only grit his teeth as little pieces and speckles of rock and dust coated his uniform.

Allen coughed and got up, shutting his eyes tightly once or twice before proceeding to wipe the dust off his clothes. Bryce followed suit and the two got up only to find the room covered in ankle-level sand. The warrant lieutenant kicked his feet in the air to clear some space as his field-grade boots turned from a light shade of brown to an extremely dark brown. Allen pushed aside the sand with the side of his feet, clearing and making way for him to maneuver around the room.

"F***," Allen swore, "We're not going to make it…the streets of the village are way too dangerous, we're pretty much screwed right now."

Bryce pushed aside the curtains as he tried using one of them to smear the sand off his face.

"We've gotta find some kind of transport to get us the f*** out of here," Allen went on, "If we don't, then there's no way we can get out of this house."

Bryce blinked several times as he pushed the curtains aside and stared out of the window. His lips curved into a smile before he asked, "What about that?"

Allen turned reflexively and looked out the window. His jaw dropped as he inched closer to the window to take a good look at the Command Wolf that had fallen down. The cockpit was splintered in some areas but still relatively fine while the gunner of the Wolf's back-mounted gun had fallen off, his body still lying at the pedestrian walk, covered in blood.

"Damn…" Allen said, "I think you just found our ticket out of here."

"Indeed I did," Bryce confirmed with a grin.

***

Allen and Bryce kept their eyes wary of every corner and building in the street as they scampered towards the fallen Command Wolf. It was just their luck that the Wolf had fallen horizontally, with the mounted gun on its back easily accessible. Allen raced for the smoky and mildly cracked canopy and began looking around for some sort of backup switch that would open it up. Bryce ran to his aid immediately and began to climb up onto the base of the Zoid's skull.

The Command Wolf was massive, and it had been painted with camouflage colors, a mixture of a base green, browns, and blacks, a possible remnant from the Delpoli campaign. Stowage such as rolls of canvas, spare parts, tools, and fuel drums had been attached on its side and there were multiple squad-numbers as well as personal engravings on its armor.

"Hold on," Bryce muttered as he opened a panel on the side of the canopy and flicked several switches, "There we go."

With the manual override activated, the Command Wolf's canopy slowly pried apart and came open, its side screeching noisily across the pavement as it did so. Allen slid down into the cockpit and checked the pilot's pulse. Giving a slow nod to Bryce, he then unbuckled the safety belts and pushed the man's body out of the Zoid's cockpit. The body fell onto the pavement with a sickening crack.

Allen shook mildly as he entered the blood-stained canopy and shut the cockpit. Bryce slid down the jaw of the Wolf and ran across the road towards the mounted gun. Gunfire blazed in the air and the warrant lieutenant could smell a sickening and redolent fume of Zoids, guns, and flames in the air as he ran towards the gun. Opening a panel on its side, Bryce pressed a red switch before entering the basic manual override code on the console that every technician knew:

_ cmd console open_

_/SHIFT 7-1-2 * ENTER_

_/the command completed successfully_

_MNL OVRIDE activated_

_cmd console /close_

Bryce closed the panel and locked it as the canopy of the gun slowly came to life. He clambered into the gun before he yanked a handle that gave the electric signal for the canopy to shut. It did so, as the locks slid into one another. Taking a pair of headphones that rested on the console, he put them to his ears and held the TRANSMIT button.

"Hey, Allen," Bryce spoke into the microphone headset, "Bryce here, do you copy, over?"

"Copy that, Warrant Lieutenant," Allen replied, jabbing his rank, "Let's get this show on the road. Let's hope you're a good shot. We've got to go find us some friendlies."

"Yeah," Bryce replied as he stared at the countless buttons and meters on the console, "Let's hope."

_Zoids technology is not my forte…_Bryce thought as he tried to restrain himself from panicking. Allen had already shifted the unit's gyroscopics and was slowly pulling the Wolf to its feet and he still had not figured out how to turn on the gun itself. _Ok, calm down…every machine should have the same basic on-switch._ Praying to the Moons once more, he pressed a red key and immediately, the canopy began to display a holographic crosshair along with a range-finder and multiple meters and diagnostics.

"Ok, we're online." Bryce confirmed over the line.

"Roger that, LT," Allen answered as the Zoid got onto all its four feet.

The hydraulics of the Wolf's feet creaked back and forth as Allen adjusted the mounted gyroscopes to balance the Zoid. Dust and sand shook off its armor as Allen pressed the accelerate pedal and the Command Wolf slowly began to walk forward before bursting into a run. Bryce could only bite down his tongue as the morning's breakfast began to crawl up his throat.

The rattling of machine-guns and rifles was ever omnipresent as Bryce saw soldiers engaging in urban warfare, taking cover behind buildings and the streets while aerial Zoids left their smoky trails in the air as the launched rockets and missiles, and other forms of projectiles, letting them disintegrate into loud and resounding explosions. Since the D-Day assault, Helic Zoids were hard to come by and Bryce kept that fact in mind as he rotated the turret of the gun he was in, desperately trying to find some sign of where Zoid forces or infantry had gathered together.

"Tango, two o' clock!" Bryce heard Allen shout as the Wolf came to a screeching halt.

Bryce immediately caught sight of the two Iguan units who were approaching them and swiftly turned the mounted gun in their direction. Gripping the handles beside the console tightly, he squeezed the trigger carefully, once, twice, as the gun roared to life and began unloading its rounds towards the Iguan. The 50mm slugs pummeled the first Iguan with a ferocious intensity, sending splinters of metal everywhere as the two of the Zenebas units scrambled for cover behind a tall building. As they crouched down for cover, Bryce lost control of the gun and began blasting wildly at the building, the rounds blowing up a water tank on the top and shattering several glass windows before Bryce released his grip on the controls.

"The hell was that?" Allen yelled over the line as he moved the Command Wolf, making it leap forward behind a cluster of apartments for cover, careful not to let the hanging clothesline snag itself on the mounted gun.

"Sorry," Bryce answered, "I didn't know the recoil would be so strong, I couldn't let the controls go when the guns began shooting."

Before Allen could inform him that he shouldn't keep his trigger finger on the handle when he fired, the two Iguans began firing at them with their four-barreled impact guns. The rounds smashed through the concrete, sending clouds in the air as Allen scrambled to get the Command Wolf spinning in another direction, struggling to get the Zoid under hold as he prepared a flanking maneuver.

"Alright, listen up," Allen barked through the line, "Once I start the dash for that fuel station over there, I want you to fire at the Iguans. Slow, sustained bursts!"

"Slow, sustained bursts," Bryce repeated, "Got it."

Without further ado, Allen slammed his foot on the pedal and the Command Wolf came to life, jerking violently as he pushed it forward, its Strike Claws breaking the surface underneath it. Bryce took Allen's advice to heart as he squeezed the triggers gently and moderately at a time as he let short bursts of rounds fill the air and several of them came into contact with one of the Iguans. The slugs slammed into its torso and it fell back, dragging a hail of electrical cables with it as it slammed – hard on to the pavement.

The second Iguan immediately countered with its impact gun but by that point Allen had already maneuvered the Zoid behind the fuel station. What neither of them realized however, was that the Iguan was not targeting them, but rather the fuel drums on their armor and the station itself. It was too late before Bryce came to that conclusion as the impact rounds smashed into the fuel drums and the fuel station, igniting them both and sending clouds of fire and blackened ash into the air.

Bryce screamed in panic as Allen pulled the handles back, attempting to reverse the Zoid's movement and retreat from the increasingly volatile explosion. Sparks flew everywhere as the fire crept onto the Wolf's armor and it soon set itself on fire. The engines inside blew up as well, the explosions ringing within both Bryce's and Allen's cockpit. The subsequent explosion took the Wolf's legs with it and the Zoid roared as cords and joints flew in the air, bringing the broken upper half of the Zoid down onto the roadside, the fire still blazing from its hind end.

"F***!" Allen yelled loud enough for Bryce to pick it up as he tried to pull the ejection handle. Judging from the choice words on Allen's end of the line, Bryce could only guess that he was having the same problem as Bryce himself.

_Ok Moons, if you are listening…_Bryce pleaded once more to Zi's religious deities, _…if you let me leave, I will be both a cleric and never touch the bottle a…aga….a…_

Immediately, thoughts of prayer left his mind as he looked out his panoramic cockpit. A whole fleet of aerial Zoids streaked across the air, firing and launching missiles that blew up like fireworks in the sky. Hundreds of Republican Zoids took up the whole airspace above the G2 base camp as the Zenebas forces began to fall back.

"Hey, Allen!" Bryce screamed into the microphone, "We're saved! We're safe!!"

"Yeah…" Allen responded in suit, "The Aarhem guys must have gotten here ASAP."

_Damn…_Bryce thought cheerily as he looked past his cracked cockpit to the units soaring in the black skies, the Moons highlighting their chassis, _…Perry, you son of a b****, I knew I could count on you…_


	9. Chapter Nine

**Author's Note:**

Well this is it folks, the end of the second fanfiction I've ever written and I'm pleased to say I'm actually quite satisfied with the end. I avoided the cliché of the two characters from each side meeting with one another and I wanted them to contrast with another regarding their ranks and their eventual endings. The story ends here and I hope you've had as much fun reading it as I have writing it.

Cheers and reader reviews, compliments, and criticisms are all welcomed.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 2022 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Helic Base Camp G2**

"Move it, people!" the commander roared as swarms of Republican foot soldiers, mechanics, and engineers ran out of the Salamander, "Let's go, go, go!"

Warrant Sergeant Matthias Perry felt his toolbox load carry him down as he rushed down the inclined plane platform, going with the flow of the crowd. Gazing around, he got a rough outline of how dire the situation was at G2. Gunfire was the ever-present sound that rang in everyone's ears while fire and explosions popped up in every corner; the whole damn place was chaotic. Matt winced as people pushed him from every possible direction as he scrambled to find anyone who might need some help.

Still though, it felt good, being back in the technician uniform. It was what he was most comfortable with, the soft cotton of the suit compared to the baggy and rustling tanker uniform. His patrol cap, Matt's favorite piece in the dress code, hung on his head while he wore the standard issue technician gloves. True, the uniform didn't have the 24th Engineering Division patches, but it was as close as he was going to get to feel just like the old times.

"You!" a Republican soldier shrieked, pointing a finger at Matt, "Hey, you! Technician guy!"

Matt rolled his eyes at the comment as he ran over, the toolbox in his gloved hand jingling all the way. They were pretty far off in the distance, two soldiers gathered around some kind of alligator-like Zoid and Matt found it difficult to wade through the crowd as he struggled to get over. Finally, he broke through and immediately crouched in front of the Zoid, careful to avoid enemy fire coming from the south.

"What seems to be the problem?" Matt yelled over the sounds of machine-guns unloading their rounds.

"It's this Neptune," the first soldier explained, "We can't get the gun to work!"

Matt turned his focus towards the mounted heavy machine-gun right outside the cockpit of the Zoid. It was a large one too, and Matt could feel the weight of the drum as he gripped it tightly. Without another word, he clipped his toolbox and selected a wrench before proceeding to climb carefully up the translucent, purple hide of the Zoid as he reached for the mounted machine-gun. The other two soldiers looked on in a mixture of apprehension and fear.

Gripping the drum of the machine-gun tightly with his wrench, Matt kept his free hand steadily on the machine gun's loading cover behind opening it, revealing the rounds from the drum's belt that was stuck inside it. He then reached for a lock underneath it, drenching his glove in oil and grease as he turned the safety switch that unbuckled the drum. The heavy drum immediately fell off and began rolling down the Zoid until the two soldiers quickly grabbed it, preventing it from rolling off any further.

"Sorry," Matt said meekly as he pulled out his now black glove from the gun's inside.

He peered deeper into the workings of the gun, it seemed as though several rounds were lodged between the firing mechanism and the barrel. That, and there seemed to be some internal workings and electronics that were damaged and did not correspond properly with the pilot's controls. Matt pulled his head back and dropped the wrench he was holding back into the toolbox before calling one of the men,

"Could you hand me a pair of pliers, they're in the Velcro sack," Matt asked as he kept his other hand hanging onto the machine-gun.

The soldier complied, tearing apart the Velcro as he reached for pliers before tossing them towards Matt. Matt caught it with his free hand and brought it down into the internal mechanisms of the gun, making sure that he had a secure grip onto the lodged rounds. Breathing deeply, he gave a heave and pulled the pliers upwards before the stuck round came out, making a resounding ping as it did so. The other lodged bullets began to roll around freely inside as well as Matt had to reach in and toss each one of them out.

"You might want to put these rounds back in the belt," Matt offered as he handed the bullets back to them. Crouching next to his toolbox, he pulled out a semi-conductor, a portable auxiliary battery, as well as several wires to serve as conduits.

He scampered up the Neptune once more and pulled several levers on the gun's stand before more panels slid out, revealing the internal mechanics within. Reaching in with his right hand, he pulled out the tangle of slit wires, each one of them damaged, and tossed them aside, careful not to yank too hard as he removed them from their ports. The soldiers kept their wary eyes on him as he replaced the broken wires with the conduits, plugging them into their respective ports before pushing their ports into the portable battery.

"Alright," Matt said, directing the men, "Try dry-firing it now."

The gunner complied and got onto the Neptune, gripping the handle of the gun as the on-board computer system came to life, giving the man complete statistics on the bullet's drop, ballistics, as well as countless other little calculations. The man shifted the gun's weight towards the ground before pressing the trigger, and the gun shook as it shot out dust and sir that was clogged within.

"How is it?" Matt queried as he opened the battery and pulled out a cord inside to fix into the semi-conductor.

"A little tight, I feel," the gunner answered, "Could you up the power a bit, give it a little more boost?"

"Alright…" Matt replied as he began tapping multiple keys and twisting the knobs on the conductor and the battery slowly hummed. The gunner dry-fired the gun again and this time it came out in a loud, satisfying roar.

"Looks like I'm done here," Matt finished up as he unplugged the conductor and stuffed it into the toolbox. He pulled out a roll of friction tape and taped the battery to the cockpit of the Neptune, right below the machine-gun, "Careful with the battery, you knock it out by accident and the machine-gun will blow right in your face."

"We'll remember that," the gunner said with a smile as he saluted Matt, "Thanks again!"

Matt gave the salute back before sprinting away, careful not to stray too far beyond friendly lines as he searched for more technical difficulties that he could solve. As he inspected the horizon of the battle, he saw a column of smoke billowing from what appeared to be an armored jeep. Several people, (whom Matt guessed were patients, judging from their gowns) were gathered around the vehicle as a doctor strayed from the vehicle. Matt immediately ran to their aid, once again careful to maintain a hunched posture as he did so.

"You guys need help here?" Matt asked as he arrived, his uniform already drenched in sweat.

"No, we're fine," one of the patients who was flipping several hatches in the opened-up engine replied.

"You sure?" Matt asked again, "That carburetor looks like it could use a little oil."

"Yeah, that'd be appreciated," the man replied before turning to look at Matt.

Matt froze. His eyes widened as did the other man's before his lips broke into a smile.

"Felt?" he whispered, his lips wide open.

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 2035 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Thirty-three meters from Aarhem**

Staff Sergeant Elfard White peered through the periscopes that he had mounted on the forest floor. The darkness didn't help either, though thanks to the searchlights placed at the end of the bridge, he could still make out the Zoids units and APCs being mobilized to aid their fellow Republican forces in the G2 base camp. White grit his teeth together as he folded the periscope's stand and began crawling on his belly several inches back where the rest of his squad was.

His men were waiting for him as he announced, "It's begun. They're already moving their forces to Aarhem. I can even see those bloody Pteras units flying out of their hangars."

"Then how do we even get to the bridge, sir?" a private (1st Class) by the name of Jackiel Orion asked.

"I suggest we wait it out," Corporal McVay offered, "Chances are that the Lics would have moved most of their forces to G2 and though they might tighten bridge security, we still have a better chance if they have less Zoids."

"I agree with that," White said as he nodded, "Alright, we'll have to hold it out. Hole up here for awhile until all their forces have retreated. Then we move lightning fast."

"Down the slope would be the best move," Orion commented, "Down into the Wilhelm canal then we fire our arms from there and set that thing to blow. By that point we should be swimming away so as to not get hit by the falling bridge."

"Yeah, but that's under the assumption that there's no bridge security on this end," McVay pointed out, "Anyways, the explosives might not be fully wired and since we neither have sappers or cables to hang ourselves upside-down in this 'squad,' our best option would be to clear bridge security all the way to the end of the bridge."

"Good point, corporal," White said, nodding again approvingly, "We do that, then we load the center with explosives before plugging in the little det cord we have left over and then blow the whole bridge to hell. Rinse and repeat with the second one, if we split up our supplies accordingly, we should have enough."

"What would they leave behind as bridge security though, sir?" Orion questioned.

"Doesn't matter," White answered, "If they have infantry, the corporal here is a good shot and we still have one W-77 sniper rifle left. He can stay hidden behind us and nail those suckers. If it's armor, we have all the AT rocket launchers we need." He finished with a grin.

"Our men trained to use it?" McVay inquired.

"What, the ATs?" Orion expanded to McVay.

"Yeah, the launchers," McVay replied.

"Not sure about that, but I can work those things pretty good," Orion answered, "Only real problem is the number of rockets we have left. We've got five, and nine AT rocket launchers."

"Leave all except five of them here then," White ordered, "Let all the people trained to use them carry them then."

"Yes sir," Orion confirmed as he turned back to the rest of the men and began asking them which ones were familiar with the usage of anti-tank weapons. Meanwhile though, White attempted to break the ice by starting a casual conversation with McVay,

"Why'd you do it?' White asked, trying not to sound too inquisitive.

"Why'd I do what?" was McVay's response, though he knew fully well, what the Sergeant was implying.

"Why did you turn your back on your NCO?" White asked insistently, "Did you decide that Zenebas' honor was better, what was your motivation?"

"The Soldier's Creed has got nothing to do with it," McVay responded, "I did it because I…well, because I felt it needed to be done. Needed to be accomplished, otherwise, there would have been no point at all."

"Start it, might as well end it, eh?" White mused.

"I suppose," McVay replied tentatively.

"What about Graf? He have anything to do with it?"

"Sergeant Graf?" McVay repeated quietly, "No, he didn't have anything to do with it."

Orion returned with a weary face at this point and turned to White as he said, "Sir, besides me only one other person is trained in the proper usage of the launchers. The others might need some practice though."

"We don't have time for that," White gruffly said, "We don't have rounds to spare and we can't risk revealing our position just yet. Just teach them the basics of it for now."

"Yes sir," Orion answered with a salute as he turned back.

McVay, meanwhile, was pondering his answer. _Didn't have anything to do with it? Hell, it was that bastard who killed the whole squad, and who now doesn't want to take the responsibility…doesn't want to finish the race._

He rested his back on a tree's root as he settled in for a long wait. _Humans, they're all pussies. Every single one of them._

**ZAC 2042, March 27****th**

**D-Day D+9, 2217 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Aarhem**

The mess hall was cramped as it was small. The smell of sweat and body odor stunk up the whole hall, permeating through every corner. This was the room where the men and women of the Helic Republican Army took their rest as they waited for the next round of their two-hour rotations. Every two hours, Aarhem would dispatch a certain number of forces to aid G2 and for now, Matt's two hours were up. And despite the fact that each one of them were coated with sweat and mud, he didn't give a f***.

"Damnit, Matt!" Felt said excitedly, "What the hell happened to you?"

"You won't f****** believe it," Matt answered, exasperated, "I had to drive this Earth vehicle, joined a whole new regiment, had to deliver a tape, drove all the way to Aarhem, met General Kades, man it was some crazy s***."

"You met General f*****' Kades?!" Felt asked before bursting into laughter, "Damn man, all I did was lay resting on a bed and getting drugged out while you were having your fun?!"

_Fun isn't what I would call it, _Matt thought to himself as he took another swig of water from his bottle. This was the closest he had gotten to a rest in the last two days and finding all his comrades in mere hours, it was the best day he had had in a long time. He had just found out that Warrant Lieutenant Bryce had gotten acquainted with Sgt. Hanks Allen and finally finding Felt took off a nearly infinite load off his mind.

"If you guys hadn't had gotten to G2 at that point," Allen said with a jovial smile, "Me and Bryce would probably be dead by now."

"You guys must have been crazy!" Felt chuckled, "My Moons, riding a Wolf like that."

"Hey, cut me some slack," Allen said, giving a playful punch to Felt, "I've rode one or two Zoids before."

Matt felt claustrophobic all of a sudden as he turned away from Felt and Allen and scanned the room. The massive windows of the room show-cased the view outside of Aarhem, something that Matt certainly did not want to recall. The woodlands were dark, even under the illuminating light of the twin Moons, and Matt shivered as he made out the silhouettes of each tree. The men and women were drinking and shouting, each one of them talking in loud, booming voices and Matt felt his head ache as he gulped down another swish of water. From the corner of his left eye, he could make out Private Buto at the edge of the room, talking through what appeared to be a satellite phone.

At this point, Warrant Lt. Bryce suddenly walked in and Matt instantly spotted his former technical sergeant, who struggled to push aside several Zoids pilots in an attempt to get to them. When he finally succeeded, Allen poured some alcohol into a flask and handed it over to Bryce.

"Here, take a swig!" Allen offered.

"No thanks," Bryce politely refused, "I'm out on official duty here, Hanks. You two," he said, pointing towards Matt and Felt, "I need your help again."

"Another Zoids issue, I'm assuming sir," Felt answered with a loud, haughty laugh, "Look what happened last time that happened!"

_Bad joke, Felt, _was Matt's first thought and he felt at ease when Bryce didn't smile back.

"I'm serious, Technician Treus," Bryce said, keeping his no-nonsense attitude, "Gendarmerie command needs people guarding the bridge; we're running out of manpower here. Told him that I had two reserves who were familiar with Zoids, that means you two."

"Yes sir, absolutely sir," Matt said as he placed with bottle of water down. Felt followed suit with his flask of alcohol and followed after Matt as Bryce led the two of them out of the mess hall.

"So…sir…" Felt began, attempting to strike up a conversation, "…we're bridge security now? I'm not too comfortable going out my tech role, just because I'm familiar with Zoids sir. Last time you sent us off…you nearly got us killed."

"Indeed I did, and I like it no more better than you but we've all got to play multiple roles now," Bryce responded as he led them to a right turn, "Look at your pal Perry here, he's had to become a Warrant Sergeant, as I'm sure he's told you."

Felt gave Matt a playful shove, "Yes sir, absolutely. I'm proud of my ol' pal Matt here, sir. I bet he made a great sergeant."

_Actually, I killed three of my men, _Matt morbidly reminded himself before he silently cursed and shook his head. _F***. Why don't I sound like myself._

"Indeed he was," Bryce confirmed, "Was the only sarge out of five to get the tape to General Kades, Warrant Sarge Perry here saved our asses, man, we should be thanking him!"

Matt smiled sheepishly but kept his head low as they walked down the corridors. _You should be thanking Weibe, sir,_ he thought quietly, _We should all be thanking Weibe._

***

The Garius units were old, ancient almost but they were still a rather reliable platform. Matt glanced around the cockpit and took in the features of the older Zoid, the lack of an on-screen crosshair, the way first-generation Zoid handles were placed in between the pilot's legs, the safety switches which were knobs rather than actual switches. The cockpit felt just as ancient as well, and Matt shakily noticed its creaks every time he shifted his weight on the seat. Over the intercom, he could hear Felt's heavy breathing as he spoke into the line,

"How come whenever we're in Zoids, we always get these cheap old lousy ones."

"Hey, keep your Zoid a little steady and your eye on the bridge," Matt commanded.

"When did you become all uptight?" Felt asked, somewhat confused at his friend's response, "I know that, by the way. It's just that these manual gyroscopics are hard to keep track off…I bet Mr. Allen never needed to hold down analogs just to get his Command Wolf to stay on its feet."

Matt sighed. It was true, the tedious control layout of the Garius' cockpit just made it harder to control it. And Matt's dislike of Zoids technology didn't help much. Though they mostly kept silent with early Zoids like these having nearly zero sentience capability, he shuddered at the thought that this was a living being trapped inside a mechanical body. Most Zoids didn't talk much, but acted much like Wild Zoids, accepting their purpose as nothing more than tools for destruction, weapons modified to their owner's wishes. He didn't like that about them either.

"I know what you mean," Matt sympathized, "Just look up ahead, in this blasted fog we can barely get anything."

"Hey, isn't that somebody…" Felt began before Matt realized what that person was…or more importantly, what he was wielding.

A rocket projectile sailed through the air, a puff of smoke streaming right behind it as it came into contact with the main torso of Felt's Garius. Matt could hear Felt scream over the intercom as the rocket dislodged its joints and Matt could only watch its horror as the upper half of the Zoid, along with Felt, fell right off the side of the bridge, landing in the Wilhelm canal with a thunderous splash. Almost instantly he recovered from his momentary shock and he reacted as quickly as he could, spinning the turret of the Garius before unleashing his mounted machine-guns on the gathering Zenebas infantry.

***

McVay screamed loudly for everyone to fall back but it didn't seem as though anyone took heed. The first bridge only had one Republican Zoid guarding it and so many assumed the same would happen on the second one…but it seemed too that they assumed wrong. As one of the rocket launcher wielders struggled to load another round, the Garius' pilot began unleashing its machine-guns, slamming the 56mm rounds into the floor of the bridge and tearing apart several Zenebas soldiers.

"Fall back!" White shrieked, "Fall-" his hoarse voice was cut off as a slug tore through his esophagus, spraying blood in every direction.

Perspiration soaked McVay's face as he dropped his sniper rifle and began running for his life. The pinging of the bullets against the metal base of the bridge made him shiver as he heard more screams from his fellow soldiers, each one of them…in fact, none of them as lucky as him. Panic began to take hold of each one of his muscles and before he knew it he was running as far as his legs could possibly take him, hiding in the fog of the night.

***

"Felt?" Matt asked over the intercom, his chest rising up and down, "Felt?! Can you hear me? Are you there?"

A crackle of static filled Matt's ears as his hands shook wildly on the controls. _No…not another one…_ Trying to keep his fear under check, Matt spoke into the microphone again, "Felt? Are you there?"

A soft, tired voice met his greeting, "Matt….Matt, I think I'm gonna die…there's blood…every….where…"

"Oh Moons," Matt cursed as he yanked a lever that unlocked and slid open his cockpit, "Felt! Don't worry; I'm coming to get you! I'll get a medic and call for someone…anyone! Just hang in there! You just hold on, I'll be right-"

Laughter began filling the intercom and Matt paused, perplexed at the sound before Felt spoke up, "Chill, man! I'm kidding! I'm alright! The water's a little cold but I got out the cockpit and…"

Anger and rage began to fill up to Matt's head as he slammed his fist on the console and yelled into the microphone, "You stupid _son of a b****_!!! The f*** were you thinking, huh? F****** f*****, you ever do that again I swear I'll-"

"Ok! Ok!" Felt cried defensively, "Sorry! Moons, when did you become so short-tempered, Matt? I mean, I always knew you were…but not to this extent…"

"Sorry." Matt answered, his breathing beginning to slow, "It's just…I just been through a lot…kinda intense s***…"

"Hey, it's alright man." Felt apologized, "It's my fault. You wanna talk about it?"

"How? While I'm up here guarding a bridge and you're down there in a submerged cockpit?" Matt asked with a laugh.

"Yeah, why not?" Felt replied, smiling to himself, "So, how did it start?"

Matt took a deep breath. Then he adjusted the microphone so it came to close to his lips and began, "Well…I woke up to this doctor called Tuplis or something…"

**ZAC 2042, March 29****th**

**D-Day D+11, 0912 hours**

**Bareshia Bay, Helic Territory of the Central Continent**

**Devil's Foot**

"Second wave's coming in," Alan observed as he checked through the telegrams that were coming in. He rubbed the sweat off his forehead. _Damn…how the hell did I get in this mess?_

Due to his 'failure to uphold the Soldier's Creed,' the military jury had originally dictated he be sentenced to execution for treason and desertion. However, they were running short on telegraphers and thanks to Alan's background in electromagnetics, he had 'secured' the job. Lieutenant En-Cole wasn't so lucky.

HANGED TO DEATH, Alan read.

The higher-ups had decided to add that in bold caps on their daily report throughout the whole military, as a warning to other soldiers who had other thoughts besides fighting for their Emperor. Alan felt his temper raising as he saw both the lieutenant's and his own name listed there. No doubt he would be mocked by countless people when they each came by to collect their letters the next day, hell, the report kindly placed his demoted rank in bolds as **Private (1****st**** Class) Alan Graf**.

Yutmich Besseus suddenly walked into the room and looked around at the multiple telegram machines and bundles of reports, messages, and letters that were littered around the room. His face was covered in sweat and Graf could tell that he probably did not have the best time running around as a paper-boy from the _Olerjugund_. The Olerjugund, or Covert Transfer Youth were a bunch of minors hired by the military to transmit coded messages amongst troops without alerting Republicans due to their age. Bess certainly wasn't a minor, but he wasn't of a particularly intimidating stature either. At the very least they had spared his life, though stripped him of his rank.

"Colonel William wants his daily report, sir," Bess informed Alan. Alan nodded and pointed to a bundle with a spindly finger,

"There, that one's for him."

Bess nodded and sucked in a sufficient amount of air before gripping the herculean bundle with his feeble, thin arms. Alan watched him in pity before taking off his headphones and getting off the seat.

"You need help with this?" Alan asked as he gripped the other side of the bundle."

"Much appreciated, sir," Bess said gratefully, though his reply was muffled by the bundle.

The two of them carefully maneuvered their way out of the room's door, and Alan felt glad that he was getting out of the tight, humid telegram room. Bareshia was hot and stuffy, but anything was better than Nyx…still though, his arms ached at the weight of the bundle. _The hell do those boys carry stuff like these? The brass must be crazy to even make something as wrong as the Olerjugund._

They walked down the beach sands towards the pull-cart that Bess had brought along before dropping it right on the cart with a smack. Bess gave a satisfied release of air from his mouth as Alan massaged his arms in exhaustion. The newly demoted private was still rubbing his biceps when Bess, without warning asked,

"Is that…McVay?"

Alan immediately turned in the direction of Bess's view. There on the beach, was McVay, sitting on a crate, his arm bandaged and covered with blood, his face an image of exhaustion. His clothes were torn and ragged, his paratrooper smock soiled with dirt and blood. Alan looked at his former squad-mate in pity and began walking over to him.

"McVay?" he called out, cupping his mouth with his hands, "McVay, is that you?"

The corporal looked up, and as he saw his former NCO walking down the beach with no shoes on at all, he began to shake. His body vibrated and quaked as Alan jogged up towards him, Bess trailing behind. McVay tore his eyes away as Alan knelt down right beside him and gripped his bleeding arm gently.

"McVay?" Alan said, somewhat perturbed, "McVay, it's me. Sergeant Graf."

"Try his other ear." Bess whispered.

"What?" Alan asked, bewildered until he turned his eyes upward and saw the sack of flesh and blood dripping from where McVay's ear used to be. It was messily covered in bandages though they were poorly applied, each one of them secreting out pus. Alan turned back to Bess and asked him to bring some sulfur along with a pair of scissors. Yutmich gave a quick nod before he dashed off to find some medical supplies.

"Damn…" Alan whispered to McVay's other ear, "What happened to you?"

"Explosion…" McVay said, his body quivering, "…there was an explosion…must have been someone's grenades…heard a ringing…got knocked down…" Tears began to wallow in his reddened eyes and streamed down his sleep-deprived air-bags, "Moons…you should have been there…you were right…you were…"

His hands shook and his whole body wobbled furiously. Alan took one, quick look at the drooling shell of what was once a man and wrapped his arms around his fellow soldier. The man began to cry, in a distraught and coercive manner as his fingers clawed his own flesh, drawing blood that raced down his garments.

"It's alright, McVay…" Alan murmured as he looked up at the sunny sky, "It's alright."

***

_Warrant Sergeant __**Matthias Perry**__ eventually reverted back to a technician, though was promoted to a Technician Sergeant eventually, due to his valorous place in saving Republican troops during the D-Day assault's aftermath. He was awarded with a Bronze Star of Bravery several months after these events and was also awarded with the Halite Star of Leadership posthumously by President Louise Camford herself along with eighteen others on ZAC 2098. He retired from the Republican Military at the end of the Second Central Continent War and passed away peacefully with his family at the age of 79._

_Former Staff Sergeant, Private First Class __**Alan Graf**__ remained in his position as a telegram coordinator though by ZAC 2044, during the launch of the first Deathsaurer, he went AWOL and under hiding for several years before re-emerging as a Zoidian/human rights activist during ZAC 2050 under the pseudonym 'Cole Irvine.' He wrote a successful autobiography regarding his experiences in the war entitled 'The Only 517__th__ PIR Sergeant To Never Die,' a critically acclaimed work that shed light regarding the Olerjugund history. He was killed by radical Zenebas sympathizers, and till this day his killer's identity is unknown._

_A total of 120 men and women from the 517th PIR, 518th PIR, 520th PIR, and the 8th CED participated in Operation Backlash. Sixty-two were KIA; seventeen were MIA, thirteen more died in landing accidents, eight died in incidences regarding friendly fire, and an additional eight more committed suicide. _

_Of the twelve that still remained, ten of them deserted, one died of blood loss from sustained injuries, whilst another one survived the operation._

_Of the eleven that still remained, only three were not hung for desertion._

_And of the three that still remained, only one survived the war._


End file.
